le chemin du vent

Hattori was wounded, but he didn't want to admit as much. His forehead was sticky with drying blood and a throbbing headache had settled behind the steel of his eyes, pulsing along with the beating of his heart. He ought to be grateful really, that no one he cared for had died. This could have ended terribly, it was a damn near miracle that this awful night hadn't gone any worse, and he was kicking himself for not seeing this coming, Kiriko had warned him as much and despite all his extra efforts they'd been taken by surprise. Defences breached, the long and winding corridors navigated as though they had inside knowledge. He did not think Tojo had a traitor, but the thought had briefly occurred to him, for a moment before he'd discarded it with other grumblings.

He eyed Kiriko for a moment, brows in a perpetual state of furrowing. Hattori was in a bad mood, but could you blame him? Exhaling slowly, like it took real effort he turned to her, somewhat reluctantly.

"If you insist."