Tsukishima turned around when the door opened. The lollipop moved from one side of her mouth to the other. Her golden-brown eyes scanned the room with the practiced ease of someone who spent most of their time assessing threat levels and deciding how seriously to take them.
"You three are almost late," she said, without particular judgment.
"We had philosophical concerns about the nature of gates," Belle said.
Tsukishima considered this. "Was it productive?"
"Monroe thinks we might be living in a war zone."
"Mm." She looked at me with a brief evaluative pause. "That's not the worst theory I've heard in this corridor." She walked to the center of the room. "Get your weapons."
The rack I'd been using for the past three weeks held my spear at its usual slot, the grip worn in the specific way that came from my particular hand placement.
