Two days had passed since the night she wept atop the castle wall. The white flower still sat in the corner of Hina's room. It had dried and shriveled slightly, but she couldn't bring herself to discard it. It was like tangible proof that someone had been there. The tenth night since the time slip. Hina couldn't sleep. Even lying down on her bedding, her eyelids refused to close. There was only the sound of night. The voices of autumn insects, the distant murmur of the river, the occasional footsteps of sentries in the hallway. Beyond that, the silence was suffocating—her own breathing seemed impossibly loud. (I'm hungry.) That alone was reason enough for her to rise. If she made it to the kitchen, there would be leftovers. In these ten days, she'd learned that Gombei always left a clay pot warming by the fire for late-night meals. When she picked up the oil lamp, the shadows wavered. She stepped into the hallway. The castle at night wore a different face. During the day, the presence of people lingered everywhere, but now there was only the cold stone and darkness. Hina walked carefully, trying not to make a sound. She turned down the north corridor of the main palace, and as she entered the connecting passage toward the kitchen— A hand suddenly appeared. Her mouth was covered. Her back slammed against the wall with a dull thud. The oil lamp swayed. The flame nearly extinguished. Hina's entire body went rigid. She tried to scream, but the hand over her mouth strangled the sound before it could form. A dark silhouette stood in the shadowed corridor. Black garments. Cloth covering from head to neck. But in the angle where moonlight filtered faintly through, Hina saw it—a red armband around the wrist. A low voice fell near her ear. "[whispers]Don't make a sound. Unless you want to die." Hina's heart began beating strangely. Fear and something else entirely mixed together, her whole body trembling, yet her legs wouldn't move. Then—a sound came from deeper in the corridor. A hazy light. The flicker of a torch. The footsteps of a sentry, drawing slowly closer. In less than a second, Hina's body lifted into the air. Held by a single arm. The sound of ceiling boards being pried open. Then upward. Soundless. Breathless. As if gravity itself were being defied. A dull thud as the ceiling board settled back into place. Inside the ceiling. A narrow space between the wooden beams. The smell of dust. The old smell of wood. Dark and low—so low that their bodies nearly touched. Hina gripped the oil lamp, unable to breathe properly. Below them, the sentry walked past. Torchlight leaked thinly through the gaps in the ceiling boards. Footsteps approached, passed, and faded away. Throughout it all, Kagemaru watched her. And Hina watched him. His face was close. The black cloth covering had fallen away, revealing the upper half of his face. Short black hair with red streaks running through it. Sharp eyes. The right eye was red. The left eye was black. Two colors that held entirely different lights, both fixed straight on her in the darkness of the ceiling space. His expression was blank. No sign of tension. As if this were routine, he held his weight on the beam, perfectly still. Hina became aware of the warmth of his arm. The arm that had held her moments before—its warmth still lingered on her body. He should be dangerous. Perhaps an enemy. And yet, somehow, that warmth reached her before the fear did. (Why now, of all times—) Something deep in her chest beat in an irregular rhythm. The sentry's footsteps faded completely. Kagemaru moved first. He quietly removed the ceiling board and dropped into the corridor. Hina followed. Her legs trembled slightly. Kagemaru spoke without turning to face her, his voice low. "[cold]Forget it. Don't tell anyone about me, yeah." That was all. The next instant, he vanished into the darkness above. No sound. No trace. Hina was left alone in the corridor. The flame of the oil lamp flickered. She placed her hand against the wall and exhaled slowly. Her heart was still racing. He'd told her to forget. But it was the opposite. That red right eye, watching her from the dark ceiling space—that face was burned into her mind, refusing to fade. (Who is that person?) There was no answer. --- The next morning, Hina noticed her room had changed. It happened quickly. By the time she woke, it was already done. Her bedding had been slashed. Cotton stuffing spilled out across the floor. Everything on the shelves had been knocked down. The white flower too—trampled and pressed flat against the boards. She looked at the wall. Large characters written in thick ink ran across the four-and-a-half mat room: —Get out. Filthy woman. Hina stared at those characters for a long time. Anger came before fear. She could guess who had done it. She'd seen Sakura whisper something to a maidservant the night before. But there was no proof. As a guest of uncertain status in this castle, Hina had no place to appeal, no means to defend herself. She clenched her teeth and began gathering the scattered cotton from the floor. That afternoon, Hina was brought before Yoshihayate. But it wasn't Yoshihayate who had summoned her. Sakura had stormed into the administrative chamber. With two attendants. Her narrow eyes held a different light today. The eyes of someone with a winning hand. "[cold]My lord. I have a report to make." Sakura knelt before Yoshihayate. The hem of her wisteria-colored kimono spread quietly across the floor. In her hand, she held a single document. "[cold]It appears the guest woman has leaked information about the castle's supply routes to the outside. I have found a letter to this effect." She offered the document. Yoshihayate took it. Hina was made to sit formally at the edge of the room. She could feel every gaze turning toward her. Yoshihayate's eyes traced the document. Hina's hands clenched in her lap. "[scared]That's not true. I didn't write it." Her voice came out. It trembled, but it was clear. "[cold]You claim you cannot write?" Sakura turned slowly toward Hina. She was smiling. That smile was the most frightening thing of all. "[cold]Then let me ask you this. How could a woman who cannot write perform calculations of supply figures? I'm told you demonstrated arithmetic before our lord. A person who cannot read or write, yet can calculate numbers alone. Don't you find that strange? This is what I believe happened: someone taught you the numbers, and someone else wrote on your behalf. A spy with connections both inside and outside the castle. Isn't that the more natural conclusion?" Her voice was quiet. Not shouting. Merely matter-of-fact. And that was precisely what silenced Hina's protests. She wanted to say it was different. She wanted to say there was no such person. But whatever she said, Sakura would simply layer more words on top, building her case. Hina had no way to prove anything. In this castle, there was no one who would believe her. She looked at Yoshihayate. His eyes met hers. His silver left eye was watching her. In these ten days, Hina had learned to read the subtle shifts in that eye. When she'd shown him arithmetic in the administrative chamber, when she'd made soap in the kitchen, that eye had wavered for just an instant. But not now. It was ice. Cold silver without emotion. The same eye from the first day, fixed upon her. "[cold]Place her under house arrest. Lock the four-and-a-half mat room." It was brief. That was all. He stood and left the administrative chamber. His footsteps faded. Hina couldn't speak. Words wouldn't come. Something was caught in her throat, strangling her voice before it could form. Sakura passed by Hina's side. Before stepping into the corridor, she turned back once. She said nothing. Only smiled. That smile was the answer to everything. --- The four-and-a-half mat room was quieter than she'd expected. The door was locked. From outside. She could sense a sentry standing in the hallway. Through the latticed window, she could see only the roofs of the castle town below—no human faces. The midday meal was left at the door. When she called out, no one answered. Cold mixed-grain rice and salted greens. She ate alone. The taste meant nothing to her. In the evening, footsteps came down the hallway. Slow footsteps. Unhurried. Hina pulled her face back from the latticed window and looked toward the door. The footsteps approached and stopped. Then they resumed. But the door didn't open. They passed slowly down the corridor. Hina looked out through the latticed window. Beyond the lattice facing the hallway, she saw Sakura walking past. Her wisteria-colored kimono caught the evening light. Walking slowly, she turned toward the window for just an instant. Their eyes met. Sakura smiled. Thin and brief. Then she faced forward again and continued on. No one else came. The whispered voices of the maidservants drifted through the hallway beyond the lattice. The guest has finally been placed under house arrest. The lord finally noticed, didn't he. Their voices grew slightly louder as they passed Hina's door. Deliberately, Hina understood. Darkness fell. Hina sat in the corner of the room. She hugged her knees. She gathered the cotton from the slashed bedding and tried to shape it into something usable. Sitting on it made the cold floor slightly more bearable. (I want to go home.) That thought came again. She wanted to hear her mother's voice. She wanted to hear her father's footsteps clattering down the hallway. She wanted to hear her friend Haruno say, "Hey, listen, yesterday—" She would have been grateful for the automatic doors of a convenience store. The sound of a bus's brakes would have been enough. Anything. Anything from the modern world. Tears came. She tried to stop them. She knew crying wouldn't change anything. It felt like losing. But she couldn't stop. She pressed her face against her knees, muffling her sobs. Her shoulders shook. Yoshihayate hadn't believed her. That was what hurt most. Not anger. She couldn't bring herself to blame him. Her mind understood that his judgment was natural given his position. And because she understood, it hurt all the more. She had wanted him to believe her. Just one word would have been enough. But the moment his silver eyes turned to ice, something in Hina cracked. She cried until exhaustion took her, then leaned against the wall. The oil lamp's fuel was running low. The flame had grown small. Hina stared at it, her mind drifting. Then—a small sound came from outside the latticed window. Hina lifted her head. There was a person in the darkness. Leaning against the lattice, crouching. Black garments. A red armband. The person from last night was there. Kagemaru. His face was turned away. He wasn't looking at her. But he was definitely there. On the other side of the lattice. "[whispers]...Why are you here?" Her voice was hoarse. The voice of someone who had been crying. Kagemaru kept his face turned away as he spoke. "[cold]Shut up. Go to sleep, yeah." That was all. He made no move to leave. Hina sat down in front of the lattice. She leaned her back against the wall, facing the same direction as Kagemaru. With the lattice between them, they were almost back-to-back. Silence settled. The voices of insects filled the night. The distant river murmured. Only the sounds of the castle at night surrounded them. Neither spoke. Tears came to Hina's eyes again. She tried to stop them, but couldn't. She made no sound. But they welled up, traced her cheeks, and fell from her chin. Something was passed through the lattice gap. A hand towel. White cloth, folded carefully, extended quietly from Kagemaru's hand. He said nothing. No words of comfort. No explanation. Only the towel passed from his hand to hers. Hina received the cloth in both hands. It held the temperature of the cool n