The cold touch of Misha's fingertips from the previous night still seemed to linger on the back of his hand. Kenji sat on the edge of the bed, eyes narrowed. Footsteps echoed through the residential corridor. Even through the walls, he could sense the fortress air pulled taut with departure preparations. He tried to check his belongings, then remembered last night's conclusion. He had nothing. It was that simple. Last night, when Lina had asked through the cloth curtain, "Are you sure about your belongings?" Kenji had answered, "I'm fine." Or rather, he meant he had nothing, but Lina had taken it at face value and laughed, "Well, that's convenient then." He'd noticed her voice was forced, and he'd pretended not to notice. Stepping out into the corridor, the pre-dawn air stabbed at his cheeks. The fortress's stone walls had absorbed the night's cold thoroughly, and just walking down the hallway drained body heat gradually. The Iron Tread Plaza—a circular training ground sixty meters