PENELOPE
Ryuji’s house looked like it was made for a scene for a high-budget period drama. The kind that starts with a sword fight and ends with a quiet funeral.
It was a wide traditional compound that had shoji doors, wooden frames, soft warm lighting and lanterns hanging in delicate clusters from the ceiling beams. But there were also sleek cars in the driveway and a security system that looked like it could launch a rocket. Japanese. But not.
My guess was Hilton Tech. I’m sure that’s why Christian was still stuck in Tokyo for a while. If I’m correct.
It smelled like cedarwood and incense, like the inside of a centuries-old shrine someone had spritzed with expensive cologne. Every surface gleamed. Every corner was exact.
We were led in by a woman in a pale blue kimono, with a gold o
