AN: sorry for the cliffhanger. Thankfully I kept writing so you won't have to deal with a 4-month hiatus.

BIG thanks to MonsterCatMusicGirl and Bobvosh for editing! I don't know where i'd be without you guys. Also, if you ever want another SI/OC fic to read, go check out Cat's fic, Moonflower :D

Word count: 5,908

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Chapter 31 - To Be Guilty

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Itachi didn't know where else to turn—he didn't have a lot of options. He found his mother at the Hokage's house and he barely even felt bad for interrupting her when she was busy taking care of the Hokage's son. For all intents and purposes, it should have been Sasuke she was looking after, but he was old enough to understand that this was her duty somehow, both as Kushina-sama's friend and to the Yondaime.

(When a bitter curl of resentment bubbled up, seeing her carry the baby in her arms, he smothered it, and went straight to the matter at hand.)

"Hana's been arrested."

The guilt in her voice was almost palpable, and she gestured for him to come inside. "Let me explain…"

"You knew about this?" Itachi was at a loss for words. How could this have happened? Why now? After—

After she had just—

He was a teenager, but the look on his face—

Her nails sinking into the soft flesh of his neck… He couldn't erase that from his mind. It was still fresh, an hour's sprint from the relief camp. What was going on?

"They're just trying to get the full story," Mikoto said, easing the Yondaime's son off her shoulder and into a nearby crib. After the baby left her arms, she turned to her son, her shoulders tight with worry. "They won't hurt her."

"Are you sure?" Itachi urged, worried despite her reassurances. "You didn't see her face when they took her."

"There's a lot I can't tell you, it's confidential." she winced when he narrowed his eyes at her. "I'm sorry."

Itachi clenched and unclenched his hands. If he wanted answers, he wasn't going to get them all here. But this was about as close as he could get to the truth as they would let him. If he wanted answers, he'd have to wait until he was at a higher security level. Chunin, jounin, etc.

He just wanted to know if his friend would be okay.

Itachi sighed. "So what can you tell me?"

"They're just going to interview her."

ᛜ

She knew this day had been coming, but she didn't think she'd be covered in blood so soon.

Hana's back hit the interrogation chair harder than she meant to, and the legs scraped along the ground with an ugly rattle. Her hands weren't in cuffs, but she was alone in a boxed room, with nothing but herself and a mirror to keep herself company.

Staring at her reflection was enough to send her off the edge. Her nails were still sharp and lethal, and the bottom half of her face was dripping with—she looked like some sort of animal. Like she had ripped the guy's throat out with her teeth. Her eyes were bloodshot from crying and she could hardly suck in a decent breath. Hana was ready to roll over and die on the spot.

When a medic came in and gave her a spare change of clothes, she nearly burst into tears again. Kindness was not something she was expecting, but when the young woman took her gnarled hands into her own, and pressed a soft glowing palm down, the aching in Hana's fingertips finally stopped, and her nails retracted. She didn't even know how to to do that.

They gave her wet wipes for her face and cleaned off her hands. They didn't do any scrapings, or asked who the guy was—it was like he didn't even matter, like they expected it to happen in the first place, or that they didn't care at all what she did. And if that was the case, her being there? Meant worse things than simple murder. She had dreamed about this day for years now.

She slipped the extra clothes on over her bloody t-shirt and pants and took them off underneath. Even though the medic told her nobody was watching her change through the one-way mirror, it didn't feel safe enough anyway. She was hyper aware of her every action like she was being watched from every angle.

She threw her bloody clothes in a bundle in the corner for someone to pick up. Her hat too. The new clothes they picked out were hers—salvaged from her house or something, or very close to it. She didn't know how they knew her size, but she was…. grateful? In a way. Despite the constant terror and nausea at what she had done (and what they were probably going to do), being a little less reminded of the fact that she was a murderer made her feel more… at peace.

And she was a murder, now. If not before by her own actions, by her intervention, and by being 'a friend', than certainly she was now.

With a hollow feeling in her stomach, Hana realized this wasn't even the worst day of her life by far. Sure, it was bad, but… It could get worse. It could always get worse. This was either a sign that it wouldn't, or the start of something very, very bad.

Another woman came into the room and sat across from her, with a thin file tucked under her arm. She was pretty, Hana noticed, with delicate blonde hair and clear blue eyes. Yamanaka, then. At least they were cutting right to the chase.

They say the Yamanaka can fish out thoughts and memories through a single glance. That they don't even need a hand sign.

Hana couldn't help herself. She looked into the woman's eyes—

And saw amber staring back at her, and ginger hair. A calculating look, and a smile that said he knew more than he was letting on.

Hana shuddered and covered her face with her hands. Her whole body shook. "I-I'm sorry, I'm sorry—I didn't mean it, I'm so sorry…"

"It's okay, Hana-san, you're not here as an enemy," the woman said, concern laced deeply in her voice. It had to be some sort of plot to get her to trust the woman more willingly, but Hana was so desperate after everything she had been through, she fell for it. "It's okay, you're not in trouble."

"I—I'm not… in trouble?" Hana seemed to sink further into her chair, confusion etching itself onto her face amongst the grief and despair. "J—just tell me what you need from me. I… don't understand…"

"There's something of great importance that's been linked to you in an undergoing investigation." The Yamanaka smiled and purposely toned down her word choice. She was supposed to speaking to a seven year old girl, after all. "I just need to know what you know about this drawing. Okay?"

Hana dumbly nodded her head. "Okay."

The woman opened the file.

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Minato watched the exchange from the one-way glass. The girl he had met months ago was nothing like the child being interrogated now. She was skin and bones—pale even though she was sweating through her new change of clothes. He could could see how terrified she was even without feeling it in the air. It was like the cry of cornered animal: desperate. The kind that drove prey to gnaw off their own legs.

It wasn't paternal instinct that made him want to call off the interrogation, but pity. He let it go on for as long as it had since this was some undeniable lead towards his wife's kidnapper, but how could he call himself a leader of the people, if he treated one of their own—so vulnerable, and close to breaking—so poorly?

They could obviously let her rest up and gather her bearings after such a traumatic incident. Ibiki had given him a full report. First mission kill, with some respectable and heroic actions. In any other situation, the kid should have been treated like a hero.

It just so happened that the guy she took down was well known to the builders, even if he did try to kill them all. That was how Iwa operated—make someone else do their dirty work. Jiraiya had intercepted a dozen of these in the past week alone. It was only about time one of them slipped through the cracks.

Minato was a moment away from calling the whole thing off when the door behind him—leading to the rest of T&I—flew off its hinges.

About a dozen ANBU and agents swarmed around him and the intruder, but Tsume Inuzuka was completely unphased. Behind her, Gonza Inuzuka looked like a deadly shadow. He hadn't actually expected the former clan leader to back her up like this.

Tsume spoke in an open, clear voice, but her eyes here narrowed into slits. The room grew cold. "You had absolutely no right."

Minato was not prepared to start a civil war before noon. He could tell a losing battle when he saw one. "Tsume-sama, please let me explain."

"We fight and die for you, lose our loved ones, and you turn around and put one of our youngest in shackles?" Gonza's voice boomed, startling Hana and the agent, even in their soundproofed room. "Have you no shame?"

Minato squared his shoulders. "I assure you, I understand and deeply appreciate your loyalty and sacrifice. I've lost people too. It's the village's security at stake here."

He ran a hand through his hair and waved down the guards who were one word away from cutting both Inuzuka down. ANBU Hound and his squad hesitated, but bled away into the nearby surroundings, ready to strike if provoked.

Minato bowed his head. "You have my deepest apologies. This should have been… handled better. The timing on our behalf was beyond poor, but Ibiki and his squad couldn't have expected what went down. They reacted as they did, and she's here now. A medic has seen her, and…."

Tsume didn't even seem convinced of his efforts and sauntered up to the one-way glass. She looked like she was ready to punch a hole through it. Actually, by the way she raised her hand, she seemed about to do exactly that.

"There's—" Minato reached out to stop her before she really did go through with it. "—something you should know. A drawing she did; that's the cause of all this."

Minato had a copy of the image on hand. As did about three hundred other intelligence agents now, pinning Hana somehow to the mystery that was the Masked Man. He handed the picture to Tsume, who scoffed.

"This is it? A drawing. You're traumatizing my daughter for a drawing." She raised her fist again.

"Let me see that—"

Gonza tore the picture out of her hands and held it up above her head when she tried to snatch it back. Tsume punched him in the arm but he took it, much more interested in what Minato was trying to show them.

He eyed the Hokage. "What does the girl have to do with the attack?"

"Absolutely nothing," Tsume hissed, rounding on both men. "You should know better than to pick on harmless kids—Hana has done nothing wrong."

"Look at the picture, Tsume. Tell us this isn't hers." Gonza handed her back the paper, all but forcing it into her hands. "You know better than everyone else that your girl likes to draw."

"That doesn't make her an enemy!" she seethed, taking the sheet in both hands before tearing it apart. She let two pieces fall to the floor, a bitter snarl on her face. They had about another five copies of that picture nearby anyway. "She's my daughter; how could you ask me to go along with this? To even think that a moment of her, behind that glass, is okay? What if it was your son in there?"

Gonza huffed. "Ashitaka can't draw if his life depended on it, but I get it. You still wanna break her out?"

Minato held up both hands. The best thing he could do right now was to avoid more conflict. He went for the placating approach.

"We haven't questioned her yet, she's only been here for a couple minutes so far—she doesn't even know why she's here in the first place."

"You think that makes this better somehow?" Tsume brushed past him towards the interrogation room door. She could hear voices on the other side as she turned the knob, but she didn't care. The ANBU moving to stop her wasn't fast enough.

When the door swung open, and her daughter finally caught sight of her, she could see the relief clear on Hana's face. Unfortunately, it was just a moment after Hana said something she couldn't take back.

"I did it. That picture belongs to me."

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Home was a tent in the woods with paper thin walls and eyes tracking her every move.

Hana wasn't a fool. She knew she was being watched—she didn't know by how many, or what kind of orders they were under, but she knew they weren't just going to let her walk away. They were probably recording everything she did, everything she looked at, every small movement or word spoken, and sending it right back to Ibiki and his cold, impassive execution squad.

Even when she was free to leave, she was a prisoner.

This wasn't what she wanted at all.

Hana buried her face in her pillow and let her lungs burn from a lack of oxygen. It had to be a fluke that let her get caught—of course. Not when she had been so, so careful with that letter, but when she had thought she had been safe, and trusted someone with a part of her that never should have seen the light of day. Her art. It was just another way to leak information—she knew, and she was so stupid as to trust—

God, and it had been Obito's mask too. It wasn't even a detailed picture and they had figured it out. They had dragged her to T&I without a second of hesitation, all over a doodle in yellow pencil crayon. A pinwheel pattern with a doughnut hole in the center, and they fucking nailed her to a post in a second flat.

How long would it take before they realized the letter was her work as well? How long before they broke out the thumbscrews and found out her dirty little secret?

She confessed to drawing it because they had her. Acting like she had nothing to hide and being helpful was what they wanted, right? So she gave it to them. She didn't tell them how or why she drew the picture. Just that she had done it.

But the feeling of utter defeat followed her home, and settled in her chest like a disease, rotting her from the inside out. She felt like she was being eaten alive. She couldn't even handle breakfast the next day.

She was told some of her friends came to visit, but she didn't have the heart to talk to them right now. She still couldn't erase that image of Itachi's face from her mind after she— after she… killed that guy. Did he have a name? She didn't know. Did he have a family? Did they miss him?

She killed someone yesterday and unbelievably it wasn't the number one thing on her mind. What kind of monster was she? All Hana could think about was getting away with her little plan. Just so she could breathe easy again. Well, fat fucking chance. She had drawn a target onto her back in yellow fucking pencil crayon, and no matter what Crayola advertised they were never fully goddamn erasable.

If she came out and spilled her guts maybe they'd let her live? Could they? Would life even be worth living if she gave Konoha all her secrets and trusted them to keep their noses out of the world's business?

Was she willing to make an even bigger gamble with her life, and everyone's lives, if she told them everything?

No. The answer was no. She wasn't willing to take this much of a risk. They could rip the truth from her empty, dying mind, but her mouth would stay clamped shut when it came to everything other than that picture, and that drawing, from that interrogation room.

Her entire plan—life—existence, even—hinged on her mother being overprotective, and the best fucking parent in the entire goddamn world.

Hana was so going overboard for Mother's Day next year.

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The interrogation room was the same, but this time Tsume sat next to her in her own chair. Staring down the man in front of her with steely eyes.

It was a Nara, this time, which didn't do anything for Hana's nerves, but this time she had at least a couple days to hate herself and come to terms with her actions (she hadn't). She could prepare. She had a plan of action, and knew the right lines to say just to move things in her favor. At this point, she could probably say them in her sleep, which was good because she was still half-convinced they were going to jump into her brain and pull it apart like cotton candy. Tsume's hand on her arm was the only thing keeping her from losing her marbles.

"So, about the picture," the Nara prompted gently.

They were still going for the soft approach, but maybe felt a little more forced to do it since Tsume was there, and civil war really wasn't a thing Konoha needed right now.

(It still jarred her how quickly the Inuzuka were willing to come to her defence. Even Gonza, who was supposed to be everything that fought against her mother, had been supportive. It was a little surreal to see just how loyal her family could be. She just never really… expected to be supported so strongly before. In anything, actually.)

"I saw it being sold on some wagon. There was a man—he was trying to get tourists to come buy them. That mask was different than all the others, so I drew it. I think it was handmade."

The Nara leaned forward in his chair and watched her carefully. She could almost hear the sound of intelligence agents taking notes in the next room over. "What did the man look like?"

"Dark hair, pale skin—I didn't really look at him too long, he was pretty average. Plus I didn't have any money at the time and he was trying to get people to look at his wares." Hana was lying through her teeth. She wondered if the three years of drama class in her past life even made a fucking difference. "I like drawing from life, and the mask had a lot of cool shapes to it. What did I do wrong?"

"It's none of your concern," the Nara smiled, brushing off her question and ignoring the way Tsume glared at him. He kept his questions pointed and precise. He was a lot better at his job than Hana was good at lying. "Where did you come across this man?"

"It was downtown in the shopping district—ah…um..." Hana passed, both for effect and so she could try to come up with as many details as possible because holy shit she was really trying to outsmart a Nara, she was so beyond screwed.

"It's okay, take your time." He so obviously knew she was lying. The guy was middle aged, he looked like had had seen his fair share of interrogations before. Probably with a whole lot more guilty looking people—and Hana was so guilty.

She was relying on a couple things in this interrogation to give her the upper hand, in a manner of speaking, because she was at a pretty massive disadvantage anyway. Her mother was an obvious asset—she had her age, and nobody really expected her to be a lot more aware of what was going on than any other seven year old. They were going easy on her, which she appreciated, because the stress of slipping up was unbearable, and then there was the guilt of taking someone's life she had to deal with and was written all over her face.

There were a lot of things Hana couldn't take back anymore. She hoped at least with all these variables the Nara in front of her wouldn't go straight to the 'she's a spy!' like… Fu had, or come to the conclusion that Hana knew more about Obito than she was letting on.

Looking back, the number of times she had slipped up was too much to bear. With her track record, someone was going to find out something eventually, and Hana could only do so much before the truth came out, and someone suspected her something.

Her face had been pinned to this investigation no matter what she did. She couldn't take that back, so in some way, she had to play the part of the helpful eye-witness. At least for as long as she could.

"So, um…"

Hana's hands were in her lap, balled up in the fabric of her sweater. Her jacket was still covered in blood, since they didn't have any working washing machines, so she borrowed one from Shinko. The white fabric made her skin look even more shallow; the bags under her eyes purple and sunken. She practically sank into her chair, weak and vulnerable. Everything about her screamed 'don't push me! I could break at any moment!'

It was a tailor-made manipulation tactic. Her interrogator probably already knew what sort of strategy he needed to get what he wanted, but that would make him an asshole. And then Hana had Tsume. It was a good setup.

"So I can try to draw the guy, if you want?" That sounded helpful, and it'd lead the suspicion off of her and onto someone else. She could give them a false lead and shake them off her trail.

He looked hopeful. "That'd be a great help to us, Hana-san."

The Yamanaka from before came through the door a moment later and brought of a pad of paper and a pencil. She touched Hana's arm in an affectionate manner, maybe to make Hana feel more comfortable, maybe because she looked like she was about to combust, but the small action only made her more paranoid the woman planted something on her, or did some sort of genjutsu, and was now inside her head—

So she reached over and squeezed her mom's hand for support, and hoped that got the message across.

Please help me, I have no idea what I'm doing. I'm scared of these people.

"We can stop and leave anytime you want." Tsume wrapped an arm around her shoulders, and the feeling of security and wellbeing that fell over her was almost instantaneous.

"There's a genjutsu—" The Nara began to say.

"Out of the question," Tsume shot back.

"—that clears the mind, helping agents on the field record things they might not be able to on their own," he continued, ignoring the way Tsume glared at him. "With your consent, it could help us pin down more details than memory alone."

"If you're saying my daughter isn't capable of drawing well enough, I have news for you—"

"Her skills aren't in question, Inuzuka-sama." The guy was obviously between a rock and a hard place, trying to get to Hana through her mother. Then again, Hana was nowhere near willing to throw him a bone. This was exactly what she wanted.

"What... sort of genjutsu is it…?" That was what stressed her out the most. If she didn't know what they were doing to their head, then she might not know if she was spilling information or not.

"I can cancel it the second you want out," Tsume said, her arm a strong pillar of reassurance. She could trust her mother with her life, she could trust her with this.

Her interrogator only had a few options. He went for the most helpful one. "It's a relatively low level technique. I can show you the hand signs if you'd like to cast it yourself."

Oh absolutely. Hana watched him perform the seals and copied them. He was right; it was pretty easy to perform—her hands weren't nearly as fast to replicate them as he was, but he was a jounin, so it made sense.

The effect was subtle, calming. Just how it was described. Hana could see the benefits of using this on the battlefield. It was the same sort of feeling she got after drawing for hours—complete focus, balance, and serenity.

There was no doubt Hana could probably draw anything she wanted. Problem was, the genjutsu changed her body language, and she couldn't rely on her stellar acting skills to carry the conversation like she wanted anymore. Her expression was much more zen, and she probably couldn't burst into tears at a moment notice even if she tried.

It was just Hana, a pencil and a piece of paper. She could do this.

"The man from before—the one selling the masks. What sort of face shape did he have?"

There was an art to being a sketch artist. There was more to just penciling in the lines and giving a vague approximation of what they looked like. The intent was to create something as close to life as possible. To create an illusion of a face on paper. With a genjutsu, it should have been easy. Hana could have drawn just about anyone.

The face she started drawing wasn't the one she should have picked. She should have thought of a random face in a crowd—chosen a collection of random features and mixed them all together. She could have let herself be a dead end, let the Hokage and her interrogator and Ibiki goddamn Morino forget about her because that was safe. It was a strategic move. It would drive people off her trail, so they didn't link other things to her and incriminate her further.

She could have change the narrative so the masked man simply found the mask off a local vender, and attacked. End of story. Her involvement would be over. Her name cleared of suspicion.

But this was a world where people killed each other by the hundreds, and where men like Madara and Obito Uchiha could run around for years and barely face any repercussion.

The boy she had killed had friends and family, people who missed him. There was always going to be a place missing where he was, and an emptiness that could not be filled. Where was the justice in the thousands of lives taken during the attack, or in the death of her friend? Where would justice come into play for Itachi's future?

It wouldn't. Hana knew from personal experience that she couldn't save them all.

But… she was given an opportunity to do something.

The face she drew was of a man in his late twenties, with a black crown of hair and dark, half-lidded eyes.

She drew one half of his face first—then mirrored his features on the other side. She could feel the eyes of her interrogator and her mother on the back of her head as she sketched, and when she got to the other eye, she paused. Tapped her pencil three times, and then copied the other one.

There was a strategy in this. She could trust in them to over analyze what she was doing, to see significance in her actions. She also knew that the man she had just drawn didn't exist yet, and probably wouldn't ever. Not completely.

The style in which she drew him and the way she remembered his face to look like were so wildly different from real life, they'd have to hold the picture up to his real-life face to even know who it referred to. But it was as close as she was willing to get. They wouldn't be able to find him anytime soon. Which gave her time to plot out her next move, to plan, and to prepare for what was coming next.

Hana slid the paper over to her interrogator, and her mother canceled the genjutsu.

Obito Uchiha, eat your goddamn heart out.

ᛜ

Minato didn't recognize the face on the sheet of paper in front of him, but had no doubt that he would eventually. As a show of good faith, T&I had begun working side by side with the Uchiha police force—what few investigators they could spare and were willing to help, that is.

Dissent and distrust after the attack was still at an all-time high. The Uchiha were rightfully upset for all the accusations thrown their way, and Minato was working on his own time to try and soothe tensions, especially since he had locked the clan head's wife into a personal obligation to him.

Fugaku was not a happy man when they met that night, but then again, neither was his son, when Minato sat down at their table.

Itachi was calm and quiet as he picked up his bowl and took it to the kitchen, but Minato could feel the boy's eyes on him as he went to his room. He knew Itachi had been there when Hana had been arrested. It was… a minor consequence. Unfortunate, but hopefully not permanent.

Fugaku though, when he sat down to do business, looked like he needed a drink. Something strong. And Minato knew him as a man who rarely ever drank.

"You're asking for resources we don't have," Fugaku began, folding his hands in front of him as if they were at a diplomatic meeting. Minato wanted to talk in the comfort of Fugaku's house so they could avoid that happening.

"I'm only asking for what you can spare." Minato sighed, and leaned back in his chair. He wanted to keep this casual. "You've already been filled in by Mikoto—"

"—Yes, my wife does seem to be in on a lot of things, isn't she?" Oh, he looked upset. Maybe taking the conversation to Fugaku's house was a bad idea. It made things all the more personal.

"Mikoto is free to come and go whenever she needs to, but you need to understand her duty as a godmother..." Minato cut himself off before he said something he'd regret. This was not how he wanted things to go—Mikoto was something that he knew would only fan the flames. Fugaku haven't approved when he heard about her assignment.

Maybe he should try to smooth things over. Start again.

"I apologize if there's been any misunderstandings—"

"No, don't worry about it." Fugaku let out a breath through his nose. His features were rigid and set, and from what Minato could pick up, he didn't appreciate the attempt at diplomacy. There used to be a time when they could just talk clearly, without any political-speak or repercussion.

At least in wartimes, they knew who the enemy was.

Okay, then, Minato would just get right to the point. "I'm just trying to find the man who took my wife. If you can help me find the person who started this whole mess, you know I'll be grateful. The future of the village depends on it. "

"The future of the village depends on tracking down the man who took your wife, when the one who stole mine, is sitting right in front of me."

Okay, Minato deserved that. Fugaku was allowed to be upset.

They didn't talk about the fact that members of the intelligence division suspected the Uchiha in the attack. And they didn't talk about the fact that Mikoto was missing time with Sasuke so she could comply with Minato's request. They didn't talk about the third pair of eyes watching them, or the small seed of distrust between them now, only growing stronger.

It really did feel like Minato was up against the world. He didn't realise how heavy the hat was until he took it off, and still felt the weight of the world on his shoulders. How Hiruzen even managed was beyond him, but he was starting to understand why the man had so few personal friends. Everything he did was called into question.

Fugaku sighed, and he stared down at the paper in front of him. But he didn't turn on his Sharingan. "I'll keep an eye out for him."

That… felt like a dismissal. Minato knew when he wasn't wanted, but he hadn't realized just how much of their relationship had deteriorated since the attack. Since—

Well, they had never been exceptionally close, but something about this felt very final. He stood, and after a few brief words, he left. He wasn't quite sure if meant something significant, but when the door shut behind him, he felt like something had just ended between the two of them.

He just hoped whatever it was wouldn't get between him and the truth.

ᛜ

"Father?" Itachi watched Fugaku rise from his chair and stalk towards the door. The Hokage had left only moment earlier, and twilight had fallen on Konoha. Sasuke had already been put to bed by his caretaker. "Where are you going?"

"Out." He slipped on his sandals, a paper in his hands. Itachi made out the bottom half of a face, and just barely recognized the style.

What did Hana have to do with any of this?

"I'm meeting with some relatives," Fugaku explained finally, as he opened the door. He spared Itachi a glance behind him. "Watch over the house while I'm gone. I'll be back later tonight."

He shut the door behind him with a click, and Itachi was alone.

There was something going on that he wasn't saying, Itachi wasn't a fool. He didn't know what it was, but his mother was involved. His father was involved now too—and Hana? It didn't add up. He wanted to know the full story.

Maybe if he asked Shisui? No—he probably wasn't involved… but by being kept out of the loop, Itachi felt completely useless. There was no point in staying on the sidelines if he could do something, but he didn't know what yet.

Maybe tomorrow he'd visit Hana—try and get the full story from her.

If he couldn't trust his friends when his family and his Hokage were keeping things from him, who else could he trust in?

ᛜ