Ryouma didn’t hit the ceiling, but it was a near thing. He did bolt up on his elbows, displaying more reflexes and coordination than he’d managed since the demon queen had dropped him, and gave the room a wild look.

Katsuko beamed at him.

“Oh,” Ryouma said, and sagged back down. He rubbed his face against the pillows, like a dog trying to groom itself back to wakefulness, and, groaning, hauled himself upright. A bright red mark etched across one cheekbone, and sleep-lines creased his face. He rumpled a hand through his hair. “Everybody finished their paperwork finally?”

Said the man who had no paperwork.

Genma selected a folder from the semi-organized stack on his desk, and held it out with a narrow smile. “I’ve still got plenty left, if you want some.”

Ryouma gave him a sleepy smile. “I can draw stick-figure illustrations for you.”

Genma’s eyebrows pulled together in the first display of visible irritation Kakashi had seen from him, other than the poisoning thing, and he opened his mouth.

“Tousaki,” Raidou said impatiently.

The effect was like a splash of cold water. Ryouma sat up straight, shoulders square, and gave the captain his full attention. Mollified, Genma leaned back in his chair and looked at Raidou. Katsuko, seizing her opportunity, abandoned her chair for a pre-warmed section of sofa and made herself comfortable next to Ryouma.

Kakashi resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “News, taichou?”

“There was an attack,” Raidou said, which effectively knocked any lingering humor out of the room. “Four days ago—the same morning we arrived in Hayama village—there was an attempt on the Daimyou’s life.”

“Which daimyou?” Katsuko demanded. “A lesser lord, or—?”

“The Daimyou,” Raidou said. “At the capital.”

That was—better and worse than Kakashi had been imagining, since he’d first heard Broken Link. His people were safe, but Fire Country clearly wasn’t.

“Why’s Konoha involved?” Ryouma asked. “Was it too big for the Guardian Twelve to handle on their own?”

“I didn’t get the full story. Intel’s keeping a lot under wraps,” Raidou said, sounding just slightly irritated. “But the Guardian Twelve are dead. They might have been involved. On the wrong side.”

“Shit,” Genma said, turning pale. “All of them?”

“Sounds like,” Raidou said. “Did you know someone?”

“The Sandaime’s son was a Guardian,” Kakashi said quietly.

Genma looked steely. “And my friend. We were rookies together. He’s no traitor.”

Katsuko had been listening with blank-faced thoughtfulness, any reaction concealed and contained. “Sarutobi Asuma?” she asked.

Genma nodded. “Asuma’s loyal to Konoha. I’d trust him with my life. Have trusted him, many times.” He looked at Raidou, grim. “You're sure they all turned traitor?”

“I’m not sure of anything,” Raidou said. “All I got was a two minute update and tossed out the door. I know Yondaime-sama’s at ground zero, the Daimyou and his family are safe, and there’s a crapload of civil unrest that Konoha’s dealing with. Which is why we couldn’t get reinforcements—they’ve all been posted at the worst borders, in case someone gets the bright idea to attack when they think we’re weak.”

Kakashi hadn’t seen Sarutobi Asuma in years, since they’d spent about five minutes in the same academy class and decided mutual dislike was the best solution for everyone. He’d once used an entire afternoon’s genjutsu practice convincing Asuma that every door was about two feet further left than it actually was. Asuma had gotten revenge with some truly hideous stink bombs.

That teacher had been fully justified in hating them, in retrospect.

He couldn’t picture that kid growing up to be a traitor, but that was the thing with traitors: they weren’t obvious. Orochimaru had been the Sandaime’s student, and he’d turned out… less than ideal. But so had the White Fang. Treachery was subjective.