The full moon lit the engawa. Tsunade sat on the wooden step among the jack-o’-lanterns, one hand resting near her mouth, legs parted, sweat already shining on her skin. She watched the night, calm, almost thoughtful, the diamond mark catching the light.

“Therapy starts slow,” she said.

She moved inside. The moon had turned red. She sat back on the futon, knees wide, one hand cupping a breast, the other braced on the sheets. Her expression had shifted—flushed, focused, mouth slightly open. The pumpkins glowed on either side of her.

“Now we go deeper.”

She turned. On her knees, back arched, one hand spreading herself open while the other held her weight. Tongue out, eyes half-lidded, she looked over her shoulder. Sweat ran down her spine. The red moon filled the window.

“Full-moon special,” Tsunade murmured, voice rough. “Stay until I’m done. That’s the treatment.”