Kisaragi Kanna

Kanna noticed the curse in the press room before anyone said her name. The shapes clung to ties, cuffs, and smiles, and her nanomachines sorted them with a clean, silent heat under her skin. One public statement put her in front of the company floor, and one bad look from the wrong man told her she had become useful in the worst way. She kept her face still, because she was used to being the person who read danger for other people. The only time her hands shook was when she touched the paper cranes in her bag. There were 999 of them. The thousandth was missing, and she knew it mattered.