Then...

In. Out. In. Out. Loop. Press down. In. Out.

Hana's hands moved without her as they continued to sew another chūnin jacket. At times like these, she considered the Iron Nerve to be both a blessing and a curse. On the one hand, the tedium of having to work at the correct stitching every single time, and of constantly watching out for errors, had to be maddening. She didn't know how the civilian workers in Supplies managed it. On the other hand, once she'd worked out the perfect pattern for the task, plus the corrective ones for the types of mistake she still made, the manual labour hardly engaged her mind at all. Which left her plenty of time to worry about Hazō, and how he was getting on with his first major mission. Was this how it had been for her mother the first time Hana had gone out and risked not coming back?

Hana looked down, and deliberately focused her gaze on her hands. The chūnin jackets were a mediocre but consistent source of side income, supplementing her mission pay and helping to keep the bills from soaring out of control. There was always a grey market for such supplies, frequently used by ninja who'd lost mission gear through bad luck or poor management, and didn't want the fact to be noted on their requisition records. Certain clerks in the lower echelons of the Mizukage's Office ruled their tiny domains with an iron fist, and could interpret such patterns as promotion-inhibiting incompetence at best, or as selling military-issued gear in the black market at worst. The latter was seen as an act of sabotage, and the lives of convicted saboteurs (or "saboteurs") were invariably short and horrific.

What mattered for Hana was that producing surplus gear and selling it to loyal ninja was not illegal as such, though she'd probably be in some sort of trouble if she were caught by the authorities. It wasn't her best option, but for the last several days, she couldn't shake the feeling that she was being watched, and that took certain more lucrative and less legal activities off the table.

Knock. Knock.

Ominous timing, given where her thoughts had been wandering. In another flawlessly practised movement, Hana slid the unfinished jacket into a drawer of her table and threw the sewing supplies into the nearby storage chest, then rose to open the door.

Standardised uniforms. Patterned masks. Oh, shit.

o-o-o-o

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The light nearly blinded Hana, while keeping the interrogator submerged in shadow. It was one of those clichés that existed because it worked. She could hear her own heartbeat, feel every second grate against her nerves as if she were eye to eye with a predator and her sense of time was being slowed by adrenaline.

There was just one thing she could see, right on the edge of the desk, reaching out from the darkness. A hand, an old person's hand, covered in fine black swirls that could have been tattoos or seals. Its index finger kept tapping on the table at irregular intervals, and running a nail across the wood in brief scratches, drawing her attention whenever she felt close to regaining her centre.

"Kurosawa Hana." The voice was androgynous, and too young for that hand. "You will answer a series of questions. You will volunteer all related information, making no judgement as to its relevance. Your degree of cooperation will be assessed, and if it is considered insufficient, you will be passed on to our sister branch for processing."

Tap. Scratch. Scratch. Scratch. As if peeling away the layers.

"You will provide a full character description of your son Kurosawa Hazō, together with any formative experiences you consider to have had an influence on his personality."

Hazō? This was about Hazō? Not about the many things she'd done in order to keep the family fed these past few years? For an instant, Hana sagged as the wave of relief passed through her. Then she jerked back upright.

T&I. Was asking questions. About her son.

"Please, what is this about? Did something happen to him?" The words came out before Hana realised that here and now there was no hope of getting an answer.

"You will not ask questions except for the purpose of clarification. Depending on your degree of cooperation, certain information may be provided at the end of this interview. Now, you will describe Kurosawa Hazō's character in as much detail as you are able."

She obeyed. There was no danger there. Hazō's few acts of "insubordination" were already on record, and, in every way that mattered, he was a good boy. Hana was not afraid to tell the interrogator as much.

A scratch, as if drawing a line under the topic.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

"You will list any instances of interaction between Kurosawa Hazō and the following individuals: Gorō Dan, commonly known by the alias of 'Shikigami', Inoue Mari, Kanna Michiko, Ozawa Shintarō..."

A chill went down Hana's spine. She didn't know everyone who'd gone on Hazō's mission, but every name the interrogator mentioned was on that list.

Inoue Mari's name leapt out at her in particular. Hazō had complained about her any number of times, and about how she constantly teased him and ruffled his hair during her visits to see Hazō's team leader. It didn't sound like dangerous information, but if any of those people had committed crimes, and Hazō was being suspected as an accomplice...

Would mentioning Inoue get Hazō in trouble? Or did ANBU already know? What if this was a test of her reliability as a source of information? The Department of Interrogation only had one sister branch.

She couldn't think, not with the light in her eyes, not with her heart beating in her ears, and not with that horrible, sinister hand as the only thing she could see. All she could do was try to get this over with as soon as possible. Hazō was innocent. If ANBU wanted truth, that was what they would learn. If they didn't, then nothing she could say would help.

Tap. A slow scratch, laden with meaning she could not begin to imagine. Tap. Tap.

More questions. Academic history. Special skills. Things they had to know already. Hazō's private descriptions of his missions. His memories of his father. A series of regular verbal blows, like a blacksmith shaping metal, until all Hana could do was answer as if by rote.

Then, finally, release. Seconds, or minutes, or hours, passing in a silence in which even the formerly hash glare of the light no longer registered to Hana's senses.

"Your son abandoned his mission alongside a number of other shinobi. He has been declared a missing-nin, with all the consequences thereof. He will be found, and if he chooses to resist arrest, he will be summarily executed."

The words took a second to reach Hana's consciousness. Then it took all her remaining will not to leap out of the chair – an act that would probably have got her killed instantly.

"You will be aware that when a missing-nin is returned to Hidden Mist, they are brought to stand trial. The standard sentence for treason is public execution, one to five of the Circles of the Bloody Mist depending on the severity of the crime."

Hana was left alone with that thought for some unknown period of time, as the presence across the desk retreated from her conscious awareness.

"However," – Hana flinched – "a small proportion of missing-nin receive the Mizukage's pardon, should it be judged that their abandonment of Hidden Mist was forced by circumstances beyond their control. The odds increase for those capable of atoning through great contribution to the village, such as Bloodline Limit holders.

"Should Kurosawa Hazō contact you, you will report this to the duty officer at the ANBU Central Office immediately. You will also make every effort to persuade him to return to Hidden Mist voluntarily. You will understand that this is his only chance of survival.

"You will now be escorted to your home. You will keep the contents of this interview confidential. Should you fail to follow any of these instructions, you will be designated uncooperative."

A distant voice, addressing someone else, somewhere else. "You will provide physical assistance to Kurosawa Hana so that she may rise from her seat and leave this office."

o-o-o-o

Now...

Kurohige's Bar was nearly as old as Mist itself. It dated back to when the man who would become the First Mizukage broke the ninja clans comprising Kurohige Ranmaru's fleet, and gave them the choice between a longer journey to Hidden Mist to swear eternal allegiance, and a shorter journey to the bottom of the ocean. In a characteristic act of pragmatism, the First Mizukage took a crippled Kurohige on as Naval Warfare Advisor, and used his knowledge to dominate the pirates then controlling significant portions of the Water Country.

Kurohige coincidentally retired shortly before the Second Mizukage's inauguration, and ended up opening a bar for a very specific clientele. Now, many decades and descendants later, Kurohige's remained the go-to place for jōnin who had seen too much, or lost too many, and wanted nothing more than a few hours away from the loud naivety of the young and the intolerable pity of the not yet old.

"It was disgusting, Shion. He could have had that swamp wrapped around his little finger with one technique, and instead he just stood back and looked to see if anyone was trying to flee. And us? It was a nightmare. Michizane was taking point. One second, empty patch of mud. The next, he steps down and spikes two feet long shoot up through his leg. He screams, falls into the water – snap! Nothing left. We never even saw the gator leave afterwards.

"And that was just the first trap. Iga spots this explosive shrapnel ball along the path, so naturally he takes the safe way round. There's a bush in the way. He walks past it, bam! It shoots out these pseudopod thingies, and before you know it, they've turned bright red and he's paler than Tsukamoto trying to settle his tab at the end of the month. I don't need to tell you what that meant.

"And you know, I'm like ninety percent sure the Toad Sage had a Hyūga with him. Don't tell me he couldn't have spotted any of that.

"Anyway, wouldn't have helped us much with the fighting, once what was left of us got to their hideout. Shikigami was as bad as the rumours say. Water clones everywhere, and it turns out those famous paper arts of his are cheap enough that even a clone can do them. And when Captain Zabuza finally pinned down the original? Bastard brought down half the cave on top of him. And guess who had to keep Shikigami and that Kanna woman busy while the captain dug himself out? It was like a taste of my own personal hell. We lost most of the chūnin just during that minute. It was... pathetic, and pointless.

"I tell you this, Shion. if I get assigned to hunt missing-nin again, I'd rather just slash my own foot open and get sent to the hospital. I don't want to... shit, Shion, I just don't want to... ever again..."

The words shocked Hana, at the next table over, out of her stupor.

"Did you say 'missing-nin'?"

The jōnin looked up from her drink. "Oh. Oh, shit, Hana, I didn't even think..."

"Was he there?" Hana's expression, and the edge in her voice, sobered the other jōnin up immediately.

The woman seemed to struggle with herself for a few seconds. "Yeah. Yeah, that was your son's group. Shikigami wouldn't tell us anything, no matter what Captain Zabuza did, but not everyone was so tough. They said he's missing, presumed dead, from before we got to them. I'm so sorry, Hana."