From my perch in the second story window, I press Arata’s binoculars to my eyes and peer down the adjacent street. About a kilometer out of town, along a dirt and brick road leading south to the bridge over the river, a hill crests blocking the view of anything farther. I concentrate on the horizon waiting for the moment I’ll glimpse Fujiwara.
Shishi sits behind me near the door, his overwhelming presence hard to ignore. Even his breath warms the whole room and my breathing falls into pace with his. He purrs, much like Momo, and the hair on my head stands up. I can’t believe I allied myself with lions. I glance back at him, but his amber eyes are concentrating on a nearby window, not paying attention to me at all. The rest of his pride lie in wait outside. Ginza, sitting next to him, cleans his fur with his tongue, seemingly oblivious to the tension in the room.