I found my room easily enough. End of the hall, west wing. Someone, presumably Carmen, had taped a piece of paper to the door with my name scrawled in surprisingly elegant handwriting—the kind of calligraphy you wouldn't expect from a woman who probably drank her breakfast most mornings.
I pushed the door open and took in my new domain.
The room was smaller than my space at home, but a definite upgrade from the roach-infested shithole apartment Kaelen had rented in Roppongi during his darker days. Traditional Japanese styling. Polished wood floors that creaked slightly underfoot, a simple futon already laid out. A low desk positioned strategically by the window to catch the morning light. Through the glass sliding door, a small balcony overlooked the untamed forest surrounding the house—all twisted trees and wild undergrowth that somehow managed to look both beautiful and vaguely threatening.
