Momentarily derailed by the thought of several-dozen women who looked exactly like Tsume leaping into a river (a cold river, please God), Asuma almost missed the next bit.

Your room brought him back to earth.

Under Tsume's amused blue gaze, he lifted his ungloved hand and swept two blunt fingertips across the polished brass numbers. His room, right there.

Lips broke into a smile, lopsided and bittersweet. His last room had been the bottom bunk in a twelve-man garrison, with the leftover bunk used as a communal bag toss. Eleven men, including himself, and one woman--one great woman--who'd thrown all their food out of the storage locker and used it to sleep in.

For half a second, Asume thought about then--before pulling himself back to </i>now</i>. New room, new teammates, new loyalties. And his new key was stuffed into a rucksack pocket; he shoved glove and gauntlet into the fraying pack and pulled it out, unlocking the door.

"Don't have coffee to offer you, but you're welcome to come in." The handle clicked beneath his hand, smooth as butter. "And unless Ginta's the extraordinarily beautiful but unfortunately named other woman you mentioned, I'd be happy to set up a room trade between you."

He pushed the door back and walked inside, moonlight from the broad window falling on the painted face of his brand new mask, still pushed sideways on his head.