Katsuko flinched, clearing her throat as she pulled away. One of her hands refused to cooperate, curling around his elbow with stubborn implacability. She gave it a tight-lipped look of annoyance and glanced back up at him. “It’s a long story. Definitely longer than an elevator ride. Wanna go talk somewhere else?”

He hesitated, briefly, before offering, “Coffee?”

She grinned. “You’re buying.”

They rode the elevator down to the ground floor and left the hospital with little fanfare, wandering down a street at random. It didn’t feel awkward, walking together in companionable silence. Every so often she would bump her shoulder against his, a friendly nudge that served no other purpose than to remind herself he was there.

Three blocks down they ducked into an out-of-the-way cafe with plush corner booths that offered a clear view of the street, quiet enough not to jar a twitchy shinobi’s nerves but crowded enough that no bored customers would try to eavesdrop. Ryouma ordered a light roast, dumping in enough milk and sugar to make her teeth hurt , and Katsuko got herself a decaf with enough cream to turn it murky white.

“Three months after you went MIA,” she started, fingers drumming restlessly on the rim of her mug. “I went on a mission. Standard retrieval of a compromised Intel agent in the field--should have gone like clockwork. I was partnered with two Akimichi. Twins.”

Honoka had been their heavy-hitter, using her inherited builk and deceptive agility to devastating effect in close quarters. She’d been the first to die, a kunai buried in her throat to the hilt. Katsuko closed her eyes. “Things went south, really hard and really fast.”