Kenji had been trying not to think about what happened in the corridor last night. The fact that he was *trying* meant he'd already failed. Sitting alone at the long table in the Sumigarama Hall—the communal dining hall used by everyone in the fortress—with a bowl of morning porridge made by Chef Hana in front of him, his spoon had gone still. The cold stone wall of that corridor. The body heat transmitted through his thin sleeping clothes. The sensation of steady breathing spreading slowly across his skin from his arm. Every time he remembered it, the back of his neck grew warm. Focus on the porridge. (…It's warm.) No, not the porridge—last night's— "Focus!" Kenji had spoken aloud without thinking. A soldier at the next table turned to look. He cleared his throat and took a sip of porridge. Hana's morning porridge contained forest mushrooms, with a rich aroma. It tasted better than usual—or maybe that was just his imagination. Probably his imagination. His ears were slightly r