The rain had returned. It hammered against the skylights of the underground dojo, a rhythmic drumming that felt less like weather and more like a siege.
We were safe. Technically.
The air in the dojo was thick with the smell of instant ramen and ozone. Liza sat on the futon, wrapped in a blanket, staring at the small, leather-bound book in her hands. Akemi was cleaning her bokken again, her movements repetitive and soothing.
I sat opposite Liza, my new phone buzzing with notifications I was ignoring. My mother asking if the retreat was going well. Ren asking if I'd seen the news.
"It won't open," Liza muttered, frustration coloring her voice. She tugged at the cover of the notebook. It wasn't locked. There was no latch, no keyhole. But the pages were sealed shut, fused together by a force that felt cold to the touch.
"Let me try," I said.
She handed it to me.
The leather was old, cracked like dried mud. The moment my fingers touched it, a chill shot up my arm.
