In the time Raidou had known Genma — which was, granted, not long; but long enough — he’d never seen the man jitter before. It was subtle. A restless twitch in long fingers. A gaze that never quite settled. Edgy, anxious chakra.

Paranoia was a useful habit, in moderation. Too much would lead to stabbing shadows, or civilians.

“I need to stretch,” Raidou said. “Walk with me?”

Genma glanced at Kimiko, who’d curled up drowsily under a heavy blanket, Sango nestled in the circle of her arms. She tracked them without expression. Raidou peeled an insubstantial clone out of his chakra and sent it to sit next to her bunk.

“Kill it if you need something,” he told her. “I’ll get the message.”

Kimiko closed her eyes.

Genma took a deep breath, let it out, inhaled again, and got to his feet. He moved stiffly, like there was sand in his joints, but offered a hand to pull Raidou up. His fingers were cold.

The night, when they stepped back out into it, was colder. Raidou shoved his hands into his pockets. Genma crossed his arms, tucking his hands under his armpits. Muted lamps cast dim circles of orange-yellow light. The ship was a subdued hustle of activity. Sailors did mysterious but presumably important things with ropes. The First Mate stood on the rear deck with an eye-glass trained on the horizon. Ryouma had swarmed up into the rigging and found himself a perch on a cross-bar, legs swinging in the breeze. He signalled when he spotted them: No change.

Genma tucked his chin down. After a beat, Raidou signalled back: Eat something.

Ryouma saluted with a ration bar and returned to scanning the coast.

Younger sailors skittered out of the way when Genma and Raidou took a slow circle around the deck. The few older sailors, grizzled men and women with rough hands and impressive scars, looked wary but not fearful. Having spent a little time under the ocean, Raidou could see how a pair of ninja would only rank as a middleweight threat.

The deck boards carried interesting marks in more than one place. Some of them seemed claw-shaped. Raidou hadn’t paid them much attention on the way out, but he was noticing them now.

One tour didn’t do anything to unlock Genma, though it did help work some of the growing stiffness out of Raidou’s back. By the second tour, the First Mate had moved to the front deck to squint at a brass instrument and jot notes in her giant, leatherbound log-book. Raidou paused on the rear deck, where she’d been standing. Genma took another step before he realized they’d stopped moving.

Raidou braced his elbows on the wooden railing, worn smooth by skilled carpenters and years of service, and leaned forward to look down at the waves. Spilled moonlight turned the crests silver. The Look Far rocked gently on her anchor chain, riding low swells.

“It’s pretty when it’s not trying to kill us,” Raidou said.