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Summary
“The Cutthroat Cat did it,” someone said from behind Fuma, loud enough to be heard over the agitation of the crowd. It made Fuma spin around, the accent unfamiliar, certainly not local, and not one he recognized even from his time in Edo.
The stance was what caught Fuma’s attention. Someone who looked at the scene without fear or confusion, and a heavy cloak and hood on a bright spring day. It was suspicious. The figure began to move backwards, turning to walk away from the crowd. Fuma trusted his instincts and followed, with only a brief glance back at Hirota to make sure he wasn’t abandoning him to a brawl.