Katsuko’s lips were dry and cracked; still, she managed to bare her teeth in the semblance of a grin. “Six months down here tends to kill the optimism right out of girl. If it doesn’t just kill her first.”

There was a rustle of cloth behind her. “Katsuko,” Hakuin rasped. Even with his vocal chords mangled beyond repair, he still managed to convey an almost palpable air of disapproval.

She grimaced. “Sorry,” she offered. “The old man’s Hakuin. Kid across the hall’s Ichiba. You got a name?”

The man--was he, really? He couldn’t have been more than a few years older than her, at most. He had the lanky, wiry look of someone not done growing yet, with scruffy vagabond hair and a couple days’ worth of stubble. There were dirt and grass stains on his threadbare jeans, and more than a few holes in his long-sleeved shirt.

“I’m Asuma.” He peered over her shoulder, raising an eyebrow when Hakuin didn’t stir from his huddled position on his cell floor. When Ichiba made a curious sound he turned and waved. “Hey, kid. You from Konoha, too?”

“Kusa.” Ichiba stared at Asuma. “Were you trying to find us?”