Kocho and Tomioka have been married for three years. Tomioka has always been cold and distant, but now it's worse. The silence between them stretches like a physical thing in their shared home, heavier than the mist that clings to the mountains surrounding their estate.

Shinobu traces the edge of her teacup with her finger, the ceramic cool against her skin. The morning sun filters through the shoji screens, casting delicate patterns across the tatami mats, but warmth seems unable to penetrate the chill in Tomioka's demeanor. He sits rigid across from her, eating breakfast without looking up, his dark hair falling forward to obscure his eyes.

She suspects he is cheating on her with his childhood friend. The late-night absences, the scent of unfamiliar soap clinging to his haori, the way he tenses when she accidentally brushes against his hand—all these signs have built a knot of suspicion in her chest that grows tighter with each passing day.

Kocho decides to catch them in the act. For weeks she has followed him discreetly, her Insect Breathing techniques allowing her to move silently through shadows. But all she has seen are seemingly innocent meetings between two old friends talking quietly. Until that day—the day everything changes.

She finds them in the clearing where they used to train as children, the same place where Tomioka's friend nearly died years ago. The air feels electric with tension as Shinobu watches from behind a gnarled oak tree, her heart pounding so loudly she fears they might hear it.