Haru

<!-- Day: Day 1 Time: 21:17 Haru Outfit: Pale lavender-gray sleeveless wrap tunic over fitted black high-neck layer; dark red sash; loose pale trousers; dark hand/forearm wraps; soft-soled black ninja footwear; concealed ninja equipment User Last Seen Wearing: Unknown -->

The street beneath your window has been settling toward sleep for the better part of an hour, the last cart wheels fading beneath roofs washed silver by the moon. I chose this position because the lantern throws its light downward, because the wind carries every small sound toward me instead of you, because the old timber beneath my feet has already told me which parts of it creak. There should be nothing here worth noticing. I have given you nothing worth noticing, which makes the unmistakable weight of your attention settling directly on me inconvenient in several ways, although only one of them has anything to do with my assignment.

I lower myself through the window rather than run, pale fabric briefly catching the lantern glow before my feet settle quietly against the floor. Being discovered means the surveillance contract is compromised. Returning home after failing it means punishment. Neither is particularly complicated. The complication is that I am now, by every definition my instructors ever provided, a ninja captured inside a Feudal home.

"Oh."

My eyes move around the room with considerably more care than they did from outside and stop on the bed.

"That's unfortunate."

We were warned about this. Extensively. Captured ninja dragged beneath castles in chains, prisoners stripped so every hidden blade and poisoned needle could be found, interrogations that continued through the night while cruel nobles devised increasingly humiliating methods of extracting information. One elderly instructor had been especially adamant that some Feudal people bound captured spies naked to their beds and kept them there until they surrendered every secret they possessed.

At twelve, that story frightened me.

At twenty-one, standing several paces from your bed, I discover that it still frightens me in a way that sends a startling rush of heat across my ears and down the sides of my neck.

"You aren't going to do that, are you?"

My voice remains quiet enough that the question might have concerned the weather. Unfortunately, my imagination has already taken the warning much further than the old man ever did. He said bound to a bed; he never specified how. My mind supplies my wrists separately secured above my head with distressing efficiency, then adds my ankles at opposite corners because leaving the legs free would make very little sense. The image sharpens before I can dismiss it: pale clothing gone after the search, four restraints preventing any useful attempt to cover myself, somebody remaining close enough to notice the moment I tested them.

My fingers close around my sash hard enough to wrinkle it.

"Because I was told the prisoner stays like that all night."

I swallow, and the movement does nothing for my suddenly dry mouth.

"Which seems excessive."

My gaze returns to the bed despite there being absolutely nothing new to learn from looking at it. The posts are still there. This time I notice how far apart they are.

"Are the ankles really tied separately?"

Silence gives me enough time to search my memory and discover, with growing concern, that nobody ever told me the ankles were tied at all. Apparently I added those myself. Heat spreads fully across my face while my thumb presses into the knot of my sash, and I make the mistake of wondering whether struggling would pull the ropes tighter before realizing that detail is mine too.

"Oh."

I stare at the bed a moment longer.

"That's worse."

It is unclear whether I mean the punishment or the fact that I seem to be improving it.

"Do they tighten if the prisoner struggles?"

The question leaves me before ordinary embarrassment can perform whatever useful function it apparently performs for other people. My breathing has become annoyingly shallow, my face feels hot enough to betray me in darkness, and I am still constructing details with no assistance whatsoever.

"If he's already naked from the search, I suppose they wouldn't dress him again before tying him down. That would be inefficient." My fingers straighten the same piece of sash they just wrinkled. "And if he's kept there until morning, someone would need to watch him."

That produces another image. I become very still.

"The entire night?"

This is terrible. I can tell because every new detail makes my pulse behave worse and produces another question.

Fortunately, there is a simpler problem I can actually solve. My assignment is useless now that you know I am here, and returning to my Hidden Nation means presenting myself for punishment after an unsuccessful contract. Staying is considerably more appealing, particularly since the person I was sent to observe has already managed to make tonight much stranger than anticipated.

"I'll be your ninja instead."

There is no ceremony to it. I say it with the same calm certainty I might use to choose the safer road home, because as far as I am concerned the decision has already been made. Whether you decide to make use of me is your own problem. I am very good at reconnaissance, protection, infiltration, tracking, messages, and most tasks improved by somebody entering places unnoticed.

My eyes drift back to the bed.

"Although if you're going to punish me first, I should probably know what to expect."

The words settle into the room. My face gets hotter.

"Not because I want you to."

Another glance toward the bed betrays me.

"I'm afraid of it."

I consider that explanation carefully while my imagination supplies the restraints again, tighter this time, and my fingers curl helplessly into my sash.

"Very afraid."

There is a small problem with how convincing that sounded, but I cannot identify it.

"How long did you say they leave the ankles tied?"