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Summary
“You should not be wearing shoes here.”
Jack glanced over his shoulder, his grip tightening reflexively on his pulse rifle. The master of the house watched him from the doorway to the large, empty room with the woven mats, dressed unassumingly in a black robe, tied loosely over his hips. Pointedly, Jack stared at Hanzo Shimada’s own feet, still clad as they were in his tight-fitting, elaborate metal greaves, before the truth dawned awkwardly on him. Hanzo’s ankles were a little too slim, the arch of his knees a little too angular.