Inside, the air was thick with incense. Smoke curled lazily from a bronze burner shaped like a snarling beast, its red eyes glinting in the dark.

Shadows stretched long across the tatami mats, pooling under a low ebony table littered with the remnants of a morning meal. A half-eaten persimmon. A ceramic cup still steaming.

And there, sprawled across a mountain of silk cushions, was him.

He didn't open his eyes. One of his lower arms traced lazy circles on the floor beside him, claws scraping faintly against the wood. The other three were folded behind his head, stretching the wide line of his shoulders.

The markings on his face caught the dim light. His chest rose and fell with slow, deliberate breaths.