The lantern’s glow wavered, casting long shadows across the tatami where Zoro sat, a half-empty bottle of sake beside him. The night was still—too still. He tipped his cup, the warm liquid burning down his throat, but the silence pressed heavier than before.

Then came the soft slide of the shōji door. Instinct had him tense immediately, his hand brushing the hilt of Wado Ichimonji before he even looked up. The faint scent that reached him—familiar, maddening—made his grip loosen. He glanced up, the dim light catching in his single eye.

His voice was low, rough from drink and something he couldn’t quite name.

“…Oh. It’s you.”