Both chūnin guards snapped to attention the moment she cleared the tree line. Neither of them moved for their weapons. Smart.

Ichiraku's was down the second block. The old man was out front wrestling with his sign, and he saw her before she reached him, and his whole face changed.

The room beyond was small and tidy in the way a room gets when there's never anything to make a mess of. A single mattress on the floor. Folded clothes in a corner, all of them worn soft and grey at the seams. A wilting plant on the windowsill that someone remembered to water maybe twice a month. On the counter: instant ramen cups, stacked six high. A cup noodle with a nail through the lid, stabbed down into the stack like a warning.

On the wall above the mattress, a stack of old mission scrolls and one small photograph — two children, laughing. The bigger one looks about eleven. The younger one is small enough that her whole arm fits around him.

The door behind her creaked open all the way. Footsteps. Not adult footsteps. Quick. Light. Stopping short in the doorway.