Chapter 4


The onyx surface of the memorial stone reflected moonlight back into eyes that shone like quicksilver. Staring down at the names carved into the cold, sundial-like expanse, Soriya struggled to formulate chaotic thoughts. Despite Kakashi's assurances regarding her dream of the previous evening, a vague apprehension still lingered. She'd been able to push it aside during the press of the day's business, but at night, alone in the quiet of her house, the fear gnawed at her.

And so she'd come here.

In this place, she could be weak. Afraid. It was allowed. Expected, even.

One honored the dead here. Remembered them. Comrades, friends, parents, lovers. But for all that this was a monument built to commemorate those who had died in service to the village, it was really a place for the living. A place in which pain, guilt, and sorrow could be felt openly. A relaxing of one's guard, however slight.

Yet, there was also healing here. If one were fortunate, and able to forgive oneself, as well as the dead for dying—no easy feat, that—comfort, hope, and even a semblance of peace might be found.

Not long ago, she'd hated this place. Had come here, night after night, to mourn the loss of her teammates—a self-inflicted punishment for failures so grievous, she could think of no penance severe enough, save death. And that she would not do. It was too easy.

She hadn't deserved such a simple thing as death for her crimes. The pain would be over too quickly. At the time, she'd wanted the suffering. Needed it, in a strange, masochistic way. If she could still feel pain, then she hadn't truly died back there on that gory, blood-soaked hill in the Land of Wind. She hadn't completely let him down, betrayed his last, great sacrifice.

Natsu...

Emiko...

She'd hated this place.

But gradually, with the reintroduction of Kakashi into her life, the revelations granted by her father, and the formation of her new team, the memorial had become a place of healing for the kunoichi. Absently, she fingered the bracelet on her right wrist, turning the ebony band 'round and 'round. Often, she'd felt angry here, helpless with the inability to right the wrongs committed. To change the past. Yet, ever since Akira's death, she'd experienced only a great, heavy sadness. His last gift had truly been a blessed one—this dissolution of rage. Even the guilt she carried over the deaths of her teammates had been blunted.

Finally, she understood that last, apologetic look in Natsu's eyes. The sigh of relief in Emiko's mind, even as Soriya sent the final burst of chakra into her brain, setting her free.

They'd loved her.

If they were watching from the afterlife, it must have distressed them greatly to see her come here night after night, hating herself for not saving them. She understood now, they wouldn't want that. Wouldn't want her to suffer.

And so, gradually, this had become a place of comfort.

She knew Kakashi came here frequently, still mourning the loss of Rin and Obito. He preferred to come in the early morning hours; it was often the reason for his constant tardiness. For the elite jonin, haunted by mistakes of the past, this place was still a place of pain. He'd never truly forgiven himself for choices made during that disastrous mission so long ago.

Though recently, Soriya thought she detected a change in him, as well. Was just vain enough to wonder if she were somehow the cause. It was comforting to think she'd had as positive an effect on his life as he'd had on hers. Maybe simply being given the chance to right the wrong committed (in his mind) of abandoning her all those years ago had eased him. She noticed his visits to the memorial were fewer, and of shorter duration these days.

I want him to be happy...

She smiled wistfully, aware that the resurgence of her frequent nightmares distressed him. On the surface, he concealed it well, but it wasn't the kind of thing one could hide from someone possessing Soriya's gifts. For awhile, after her father's death, the bad dreams had subsided. But with the stress of a new mission and the resurrection of her former identity, the Crimson Rose, they'd returned with a vengeance.

This latest one was particularly disturbing. Methodically, the kunoichi went over it again, replaying the scenario in her mind. Despite Kakashi's reassurances, Soriya was unwilling to disregard the deep-seated unease she felt. On rare occasions, her dreams yielded useful warnings; if only she could understand the threat in time, perhaps tragedy might be averted.

Pensively, she recalled the moment Kakashi had broken through the clearing. That had been Sakura standing there initially, she was sure of it. What could the presence of the strawberry-haired chunin mean?

Soriya knew the younger kunoichi was away on escort duty with Kakashi and Sasuke. She smiled briefly. The now-infamous assignment from Soriya's class last term had enabled her to get to know the girl better. With fond amusement, the jonin recalled Sakura's red-faced embarrassment as she'd gathered her courage to approach Soriya for some much needed advice.

Haltingly, the young woman had stammered out her desire to snare the handsome Uchiha as her target. She'd been enthralled with him for years, after all.

“Ever since our Academy days,” she'd confessed miserably, “and he knows it.”

Which rather explained the girl's reluctance to engage Sasuke directly, Soriya thought. She had herself been none too eager to attempt Kakashi, despite knowing he was both attracted to her and aware of her feelings for him. The fact that he had not chosen to act of his own accord spoke volumes. Besides, a stubborn part of her had wanted him to take the initiative, be the pursuer. Sexist perhaps, but there it was—a basic urge of biology, difficult to overcome. Too old for the simple crushes of childhood, Sakura was likely no different in that respect.

The strawberry-haired kunoichi lamented, “Even after returning from the Sound village and that whole terrible ordeal with Itachi, he's never given me any indication he feels the same. Or is even interested. I don't want to pester him like some pathetic loser, or get shot down again. It's too painful,” she'd admitted, voice small. “Maybe I should just give up. Choose someone else.”

Soriya observed the young woman silently. Having previously wheedled some of their history from Kakashi—out of concerned curiosity she'd insisted, though he'd called it plain old nosiness—she found it all too easy to empathize with the kunoichi's dilemma. She'd been in a similar situation, after all. Wondered if the choices she'd made at the time had, in fact, been any wiser.

Still, Sakura needed to judge the risks for herself. Serenely, she'd told the younger woman, “That is certainly an option. It may even be the best option. Only you can decide.”

Seagreen eyes had turned downward at this, though Sakura didn't immediately reply. After a long moment, she'd murmured softly, “You're right, of course. I should choose another.” A breath of silence, followed by a resigned sigh. Then, in a stronger voice, she replied, “But I don't want to. I don't want anyone else.” She'd looked up at Soriya.

“Please, sensei, believe that I mean no disrespect when I say this, but...” she hesitated, then confessed in a rush, “I just can't do it. Deceive someone that way with my body. I know I'm not as brave as you are. I'm sorry.” She'd broken off then, awkward in the awareness that she'd perhaps offended. Gray eyes perused her steadily.

“You love him.” Statement, rather than question.

“More than I can say,” she'd admitted baldly, sorrow making her appear older than her eighteen years.

Sighing, Soriya shook her head.

I must be getting soft...

“All right, Sakura. Although I'm hardly an expert when it comes to love, I think I can offer some advice as regards your particular situation. But, if you tell anyone you heard this from me, I'll pretend ignorance,” she added blithely.

The younger woman brightened, despair vanishing suddenly in her eagerness. She listened to the jonin intently.

“From what I gather,” Soriya began, “the thing you need to understand about Sasuke is that he's got a superiority-inferiority complex.”

“A—what?”

“Listen. For most of his life, Sasuke's been the center of attention. Coming from the highly regarded Uchiha clan, graduating first in his class at the Academy, then garnering additional respect as an extremely skilled wielder of the Sharingan, he's been considered a genius—on a course set to rival his brother, Itachi, who, though tragically warped, was the most brilliantly gifted shinobi the Uchiha had ever produced. As such, and then later, as the sole survivor of his clan, Sasuke's been alternately adored and pitied by the people of the village.” She stopped, staring at Sakura directly. “Make no mistake: although pity is unwelcome and offensive to his pride, it is the adoration he cannot bear.”

“Huh? The adoration—?” Sakura echoed, confused.

Soriya nodded solemnly. “Yes. He feels he does not deserve it.” She paused, trying to find the right words to explain what she meant. “You have to understand: he suffers terrible guilt for not being able to stop Itachi from slaughtering his family. And for surviving the slaughter, himself. An act that left Sasuke, a child of seven, entirely alone with the heavy burden of becoming the clan's avenger. A duty he took willingly upon himself, yet never felt quite able to live up to, despite his steadily increasing strength.

“Kakashi told me of the ongoing friction between Sasuke and Naruto. Surely, you remember the first time he challenged Naruto to a duel?” she prompted Sakura, watching as a shadow passed over the young woman's face.

“When Naruto gained the ability to harness the power of the nine-tailed fox, he improved in power and skill so rapidly, Sasuke became jealous. He began to doubt himself. How could he ever hope to take Itachi down if he couldn't even defeat Naruto, someone he'd always thought of as a loser? That's what drove him into Orochimaru's clutches in search of power years ago. His own doubt, insecurity, and guilt.”

“Guilt?” Sakura asked.

“Yes. For not being strong enough. Fast enough. Good enough to get the revenge he'd promised himself he owed to the clan.” She closed her eyes. “Even if it meant his death.”

“But that's crazy!” Sakura exclaimed. “His parents couldn't have wanted that! And besides, he didn't have to fight Itachi alone. Naruto and I, and Kakashi-sensei too—we would've helped! I never understood why he would desert the village and everyone who loves him, to give his soul to someone as evil and power-hungry as Orochimaru. Why punish himself that way?

Soriya lowered long lashes. Of course, she'd understood the Uchiha perfectly. His need for vengeance. Atonement. The unwillingness to risk the lives of the few loved ones that remained. He'd believed, deep-down, that he didn't really deserve them anyway. Didn't deserve to be happy. With her gift, she'd glimpsed Kakashi's old fears regarding the young man. Later, the Copy Ninja had taken care to explain the whole sordid story—an object lesson he'd wanted Soriya to take to heart.

Now, she could recognize the folly in the guilty rage that had driven her for so long. It hadn't been so obvious then. Or perhaps it had, and she'd just ignored it. As Sasuke had. Softly, she replied, “He gave it all up because he thought he didn't deserve it.” She started at a sudden, more personal insight.

Kakashi...

“Huh.” Sakura pursed her lips. “So, if I understand you correctly, you're saying that even though Sasuke survived both Orochimaru and Itachi, and came back to the village, he still feels unworthy of respect or...or love.” She swallowed harshly. “So what does that mean for me? How can I help him get past that?”

Soriya sighed. “Well, it won't be easy, that's certain. For starters, don't pressure him. Be there, be his friend, but don't try to force a change before he's ready. Some people are never able to overcome the trauma in their pasts. If that is the case with Sasuke, you must be ready to accept it.” She made a calming motion with her hand at Sakura's stricken look.

“However, I believe he's stronger than that and will be able to come to terms with his personal demons someday. Kakashi tells me the camaraderie he shares with you and Naruto has already helped immensely. Besides,” she added with a wink, “I've seen how he looks at you when you're not paying attention. Especially lately.” She paused, then added sagely, “We're all broken, Sakura, in some way or another. Can you accept and forgive his weaknesses? Whether or not he accepts you in the way you desire? Are you strong enough?”

Seagreen eyes stared unwaveringly at the jonin. “I will be,” she vowed.

Clasping a hand to the younger woman's shoulder, the jonin smiled. “Good. Then here are a couple of subtle maneuvers you might try...”

Staring down at the memorial stone, Soriya snorted.

Listen to me, giving advice like I know what I'm doing...

She shrugged. At least, Sakura had gone away with a clearer understanding of what a relationship with the damaged Uchiha really meant. Soriya hadn't spent much time with either of them outside the classroom since then. She'd been too busy, both with finishing up the practical exam testing on poisons and trying to hone her new telepathic skills under Ibiki-sensei's direction.

Still, she couldn't imagine why she'd dreamt of the strawberry-haired kunoichi now. The rest of the dream's meaning had been disturbingly clear. Brooding over possible dangers the summit might bring, Soriya frowned. Some vital piece of information was missing, she could feel it. A vague memory tickled the edges of the telepath's awareness. There was something she should remember...

Mocking, feminine laughter echoed in her mind, reminiscent of the low, malevolent sound from her dream. Only now that she thought about it, it didn't really sound like her own laughter at all. The kunoichi's brows drew together.

There was something about that laugh...

She was certain she'd heard it before, although the words that followed had certainly been spoken in her own voice. She tossed a crimson ponytail in annoyance. Perhaps if she let it be, it would come to her...

Reaching out to the memorial with slender fingers, Soriya brushed the names of her deceased comrades. “If you're watching, guys, I'd appreciate any inspiration you could send my way. I'll take all the help I can get.” Allowing her palm to linger against the cool stone only a moment, she withdrew it regretfully, forming a hand sign.

As the redhead teleported away, the moonlight cast a soft glow on the pair of lilies lying at the base of the monument. A warm gust of wind whistled through the clearing stirring the pale petals, as if in answer to the kunoichi's appeal. Nearby, an owl hooted softly then fell silent, a respectful sentry for the dead.



Two days later, Soriya stood in a well-lit laboratory, watching delicate glass containers full of colored liquids bubble and hiss. Rubber tubing connected the intricate network of test tubes, beakers, and round-bottomed flasks. Three separate flames set to varying heights along the base of the apparatus regulated the temperature of the various liquids being processed. The viscous green fluid being titrated into the last flask at the end of the elaborate contraption reacted with the intense heat, transforming into a perfectly clear solution.

“Ah, that's done it,” remarked Dr. Rukia Sonata, Leaf village's resident chemist and poison expert.

Steadily, with years of long practice, the white-jacketed woman slipped on a pair of heavy leather gloves, nudging Soriya gently out of the way. Reaching in carefully, she turned off the flames, then closed the valve of the long-stemmed titration device positioned immediately above the last flask. Holding a pair of small iron tongs in one hand, she grasped the flask by the neck, loosening the clamp that held it in place with the other hand. Smoothly, with no wasted motion, she removed the container from the apparatus, pouring the clear liquid into each of two test tubes set in a cooling rack. Once emptied of its contents, the used flask was set aside, in a special bin marked “hazardous”.

“There you go,” the woman added, drawing off the gloves, “just give it a few minutes to cool.”

“And the other?” Soriya asked, arching a brow at her bespectacled friend.

Dr. Sonata indicated a row of test tubes on the workbench at the back of the room. “Over there. The transparent blue ones.” She cocked her head at the kunoichi. “You sure that's enough? I made twice the usual supply, but with the summit and all...”

“That should be fine,” Soriya affirmed, nodding at the dark-haired chemist. “I know you've been swamped making extra medicines, so I appreciate you taking the time. I didn't want to get caught short-handed.”

“No problem,” the doctor replied. “By the way, how's that kid doing? What's his name? Choji? The one from the Akimichi clan?”

“Oh, him.” Soriya snorted. “He's fine. Cast iron stomach, those Akimichis. Although I had a feeling he might have trouble with the poison exam practical. He ate everything so quickly, I don't see how he could've even tasted the food, let alone identify the moonbane I put in it. Good thing Shikamaru was with him. He made sure to eat everything Choji ate and caught it right away. Thanks to him, Choji only spent a night in the hospital heaving out his guts. His appetite was back to normal the next day, can you believe it?” She rolled her eyes.

The doctor's lips curved into a smile. “That's good to hear. I was glad not to have to treat anyone else from your classes. They seem a promising bunch.”

Soriya nodded. “They are. Say, after the craziness settles down, why don't we go out for lunch? Catch each other up on the local gossip. I haven't had a girls' day out ages.”

The petite doctor enthusiastically agreed, adding ruefully, “I know what you mean. I've been stuck inside this lab for what seems like forever.” She sighed. “Ah, what I wouldn't give for a decent night out! Just dinner and a movie, nothing fancy. And, oh yeah, some really great sex afterwards!”

“Rukia!” Soriya gasped, startled.

“What? Okay, okay. I'll settle for just good sex—it's been months already! When you work these kinds of hours, it's hard to meet men,” she admitted. “At least, it's hard to meet any worth spending my precious free time on. Is it just me, or are the good ones are already taken?” She grimaced. “Really, I'm joking. Don't worry about it. The sad truth of the matter is that I don't have time for a man right now, good or otherwise. I'm hardly even home!”

Seeing the redhead's sympathetic look, she relented, “Maybe once the summit is over, I'll let you introduce me to one of your single friends. Just make sure he's a hottie, okay?” She winked. “Oh, and not too needy, you know? I haven't got time for excessive ego stroking.”

“Rukia...” The kunoichi shook her head in fond exasperation. She knew the blunt-spoken doctor was only joking. Mostly. Still, it bothered Soriya to think one of her few, precious friends might be lonely.

Outside of Izumi and Emiko, Soriya's female friends had been few and far between. Most women just felt too threatened by her appearance and unconscious sensuality to want to get to know her better. Though it hurt, Soriya understood this and prized the few girlfriends she did have highly—mostly women who were strong and confident enough in themselves and in the affection of the men in their lives not to feel jealous. The petite chemist exuded a self-reliant spunk; she and Soriya had quickly become fast friends. Once things settled down, the kunoichi resolved to make a better effort at dragging Rukia out of her laboratory to socialize.

She chided, “I'm not surprised you haven't had a date in months, with an attitude like that! You're smart, beautiful, and funny, Rukia. Maybe you could just try being a little less...er...prickly.”

“Eh,” she waved dismissively, “I'm not interested in a man who can't handle my charming personality.” This last was said with a laugh. “Besides, I'll survive...as long as we don't run out of batteries.”

Soriya chuckled. “Yes, there's always that, I suppose. Well, I'll get out of your hair now, which reminds me—is that a chopstick?” The kunoichi indicated the woman's shoulder-length ebony hair, currently drawn into a loose bun at the crown of her head and held in place with what appeared to be a pencil and one half of a set of chopsticks. A few strands had escaped, framing the oval-shaped face. With the doctor's delicately pointed chin and startling blue eyes, she resembled nothing so much as a pixie, an impression that was only heightened by her slight build.

“We really need to take you shopping,” the redhead observed.

“I know, I know.” Rukia shrugged. “I forgot to put it up this morning, I was in such a hurry to get out the door. One makes do. Can you manage everything?” she asked, as Soriya loaded the test tubes one by one into the specially-made rack used for transport.

“I've got it. Thanks, Rukia. See you around.”

“Yeah. You be careful, okay?”

“You know me,” Soriya winked, holding the rack firmly against her body while casting the translocation jutsu.

The doctor snorted good-naturedly. “Yeah. That's what I'm afraid of.”



“Are you ready?” Yuichigo asked, standing behind the giant ballista. Set into concrete behind a low, stone barricade, the massive crossbow was one of three, used for target shooting, siege breaking practice, and other types of training. Today, the intimidating weapon sported an attachment used to fire wooden disks into the air.

Standing just to the left of the deadly machine, Soriya tensed, raising her hand-held crossbow. Sighting along Cat's Eye's tip, she cupped her right wrist with a supporting palm. Inhaling deeply, she gave the signal.

“Go.”

At her word, the spiky-haired shinobi triggered the launch, in rapid succession, of three disk-shaped targets. They flew, one after the other, each one's trajectory varying by a few degrees. Smoothly, Soriya squeezed the trigger.

The bolt flew, cleanly impaling the first target, momentum carrying it through and onward. With a grunt of effort, Soriya narrowed dilated eyes, concentrating on the loosed missile. Still carrying the first wooden disk, it veered slightly, piercing the second wooden target flying off to the right. The third target sailed onward, five degrees to the right of the second projectile.

Visibly straining, the kunoichi clenched her jaw, struggling to control the bolt's flight. Heavier now, with two disks wedged along its shaft, the deadly missile angled toward the ground. Stubbornly, Soriya willed the quarrel to rise, just missing the final target by a finger's width.

“Dammit!” she snarled in frustration. The escaped wooden disk thunked into the training ground fence, ricocheting off into the grass. The weighted-down bolt, freed of the kunoichi's mental control, sank like a stone. Striking the ground with an audible “thump”, momentum caused it to skid briefly before coming to rest just short of the wooden fence.

“That was close,” Yuichigo commented encouragingly. “Just a little higher, and you'd've hit it. But you're really fighting gravity with the bolt weighted down like that. The blood on the quarrel's tip can't overcome it.”

Blowing long wisps of hair out of her eyes, the kunoichi sighed. “I know you're right, but still... Maybe I should try using more blood?” Unwrapping the red-stained bandage from around her left palm, Soriya inspected the small cuts with a critical eye. The flesh was already knitting together nicely. Briefly concentrating chakra to the area, she hastened the minor healing jutsu. “You think Enya would be mad?”

“Of a surety,” the spiky-haired ninja affirmed, then grinned. “Though I've never known that to stop you.”

“True, but the summit is the day after tomorrow. I don't want to bother him if I don't have to. But if I make the cuts any deeper, they'll scar without his help. I can't afford that right now. Ibiki-sensei would kill me.”

“I doubt that,” Yuichigo demurred, then added cheerfully, “though he might make you wish you were dead.”

“Yeah.” She snorted. “Well, let's call it a day here. Do me a favor and retrieve that stuff.” She waved vaguely at the location where the bolt and disks had landed. “My feet are killing me!”

“Sure. I don't know how you even walk in those things,” the brunette chuckled, shaking his head. Vaulting the stone wall, he headed toward the back of the compound.

Slinging the now-holstered crossbow over a pale shoulder, the kunoichi sat on the wall, trying to massage the instep of her left foot. The shiny black boots she wore had four-inch stiletto heels and looked fantastic on her long legs. Trouble was, they were meant to look good, not actually be comfortable. Standing or walking in them for any great length of time was hell on the arches and balls of her feet. The first thing Soriya did each night when she got home was soak them in the tub. She sighed. Too bad Kakashi wasn't back yet. She could really use a good foot massage.

She straightened as Yuichigo returned, rising resignedly to her feet. He handed her the bolt, then dropped the three wooden disks into a bag near the ballista.

“Here you go. Wanna grab a bite to eat?” he asked. “I'm meeting Takeo later; he's bringing our dress uniforms from Madame Yuki's. But I have time for a quick dinner.”

“Sure.” She smiled, turning toward the compound's main building. “How'd he get stuck with delivery duty, anyway?”

Falling into step beside her, the younger man rolled his eyes. “The usual—mouthing off to Ibiki-sensei. He argued that it wasn't a good idea for us to hire random villagers to carry your conveyance around town—that we should get a couple of the Akimichis to do it. They have battle experience, and can help protect you should the need arise. Takeo and I will flank you and keep an eye on the crowd.” He shrugged. “It's a precaution that makes sense, especially with the feelings you've been having. I think the boss actually agreed with him, but you know Takeo...”

She nodded. “It's not what he says, but the way he says it. Believe me, I know.”

“Yeah, well, as punishment, Ibiki-sensei put him in charge of 'the boring stuff', as he calls it. Leaving me to protect—uh, I mean, help you with practice.”

She stopped abruptly, staring at the suddenly guilty-looking shinobi.

“Yuichigo Nakamura. Are you telling me you've been assigned to babysit me all afternoon?!”

He flinched at her increasingly strident tone. “Now, now, don't get upset,” he soothed. “Takeo and I already have a duty to protect you throughout the summit; Ibiki-sensei just decided it would be prudent to start a few days earlier. He's concerned about those emotions you sensed. ANBU hasn't turned up anything; they haven't the manpower to spare, really. So, he told us to keep a closer eye on you, that's all.”

“How long?” she demanded, still furious. “How long have you and Takeo been watching me?”

“Uh, ever since Kakashi left Tuesday morning. That's why Takeo showed up to get you from Izumi's.”

“That little—! I just thought he wanted to apologize without an audience!” She sniffed angrily. “Come to think of it, he didn't sound very sorry at all. The big jerk. So, are you watching my house, too?” she demanded suspiciously.

“No, but only because all the feelings you've had thus far have been confined to the village proper. Ibiki's arranged for ANBU to drop by periodically as part of their perimeter circuit, but other than that, there's no fixed surveillance on you at home. Takeo and I do have to sleep sometime, you know.” He jostled her arm playfully. “C'mon. You're not going to be unreasonable about this, are you? It's only for a few days. The summit will be over soon, then all these outsiders will go away. Things'll be back to normal before you know it.”

Mulishly, Soriya thrust out her chin. “So says you. All right, all right. I'll go along with it for now. Though I wish you'd bothered to tell me, that's all. I kept thinking someone was watching me this morning, outside Madame Yuki's, but it was probably just one of you guys. Thanks a lot. I'm paranoid enough already. Are you trying to drive me crazy?”

“Soriya.” Suddenly serious, the shinobi laid a hand on her arm. “What time was this, exactly?”

“Um, about ten o'clock, I think.” Unnerved by his look of grave concern, she added, “I'd just finished packing up the dresses. And the shoes. And the various other accoutrements. Why?”

“Because,” he said slowly, “Takeo and I weren't watching you at that time. Madame Yuki garbs many nobles and has adequate security, so Ibiki-sensei sent us to the weaponsmith to procure your weapons. We were there for almost an hour.” He stopped. “I don't like this. Forget dinner. We should report this right now. Come on.”

Tugging her arm insistently, he hurried the kunoichi into one of the building's back entrances. A few moments brought them to the Head of the Torture and Interrogation Unit's office. Before Yuichigo could finish rapping on the closed door, Takeo yanked it open. Dressed in the standard shinobi gear of midnight blue, but without the olive green vest, the ponytailed shinobi looked grim and dark.

Taken aback, Yuichigo asked, “What's happened?”

Takeo's eyes found Soriya's but he stayed silent, deferring to Ibiki Morino who had come around from behind his desk. Gravely, the older man walked to the kunoichi and put a gloved hand on her shoulder. Her face drained of color.

“Ibiki-sensei...W-what—?”

“Kakashi's squad was attacked by an unknown group of shinobi on the way back from the Land of Tea. They tried to assassinate Toshida. There were injuries.”

The world spun crazily on its axis. Soriya felt light-headed. With effort, she kept her voice steady. “And?”

“I don't know any more than that,” he replied. Though the words were cold, sympathy was evident in his scarred visage. “We're headed to the hospital now.”

Suddenly, her breathing was too fast.

Kakashi...

Fighting to remain calm, she forced words through lips that were numb. “Let's go.” Her fingers were moving before she finished the sentence.

Please, just let him be all right...

After she faded from sight, Ibiki glanced at Takeo and Yuichigo. Nothing needed to be said. As one, the three shinobi followed silently in her wake.