"You told me you were in Operations Analysis," Natsumi said. "And that you couldn't really talk about it. I take it that was a cover, too?" She tried to cleanse the bitterness from her voice, to sound calm, reasonable, slightly intrigued. She ended up just sounding flat. "You're not a field operative." He'd always been a superb analyst; it had made perfect sense when he told her he'd joined the village Intelligence corps. But his dark gaze remained level, patient, waiting for her to come up with the answer.

She'd hated that gaze when she was fifteen and asking questions he refused to answer for her. She didn't like it any better now. "What have you been doing? What am I supposed to figure out?"

His eyes flicked over her shoulder again. She half-turned and saw only the closet, one sliding door revealing uniforms, casual clothing organized by type and color, stacked boxes labeled in black marker. The long black leather coat hung at one end, drawing the eye like an inkblot in a scroll painting. Was that supposed to be the answer?

"You've taken up clubbing?"