The city was still burning.
Smoke rose in thick, black columns from the crater nearby, where an apartment building full of people had simply ceased to exist. The sirens had reached a fever pitch, a constant, wailing chorus that seemed to come from every direction at once.
Sam sat on the curb outside the cafe, his back against a lamppost that had somehow survived the blast. His throat was bruised purple where Jiyeon's fingers had pressed, and every breath scraped against his trachea like sandpaper. His red hair was gray with ash, his tan puffer jacket dusted with debris.
[She's definitely going to kill me]
But his smile was still there. Fixed in place. A permanent fixture of a face that had forgotten how to make any other expression.
[I doubt that's even a hyperbole, it's probably more of a euphemism if anything]
Edward stood a few feet away.
His metal legs caught the gray afternoon light and threw it back in harsh, angular reflections. His dark eyes were fixed on the horizon, on the smoke, on the distant flicker of emergency vehicles navigating streets choked with rubble and panic. His arms hung at his sides, still, too still, like he'd forgotten they were there.
"The Vice Principal," Edward said. His voice was flat. Empty. The voice of someone who had used up all his words and was now running on fumes. "She knew this would happen."
Sam's smile widened. "Well don't put all of the blame on her, it's partly our government's fault as well."
"But she didn't stop it."
Sam pulled a cigarette from his jacket pocket, examined it, decided against lighting it. The air was already thick enough with smoke and ash and the bitter taste of destruction. "She didn't, rather than making any hasty moves, she likes to observe."
Edward's metal legs made a soft clicking sound as he shifted his weight. They didn't quite fit right. He'd been walking with a limp for days, though he'd never mentioned it.
"She's using Hoshimi as bait," Edward said.
"Obviously."
"And us with him."
"Also obviously." Sam tucked the cigarette behind his ear. "But that's the job, it's always going to be dangerous, isn't it? We're witches. We're supposed to do our due diligence and ignore all of the wrong things in the world, until we can survive until the next day and do the same things over and over again."
Edward turned to look at him. His dark eyes, usually so alert, so watchful, were hollow now. Empty wells that reflected nothing. "You're not a witch."
"No." Sam's smile flickered, just for a moment, revealing something older and more tired beneath it. "I'm just a man who made some bad choices a long long time ago and the responsibilities of my failures are just coming back to me."
"Then why do you work for her?"
Sam was quiet for a moment. The sirens wailed. The smoke rose. Somewhere in the distance, a building collapsed with a groan of failing steel and shattering glass.
"Because she pays well," he said finally. " And because I'm terrified of her." He shrugged, a casual gesture that didn't match the weight of his words.
Edward stared at him for a long moment. Then he turned back to the horizon, back to the burning city, back to whatever he saw when he looked at the world these days.
"She's terrifying," he said quietly.
"Yes."
"And you don't care."
"No." Sam laughed. It was a dry, hollow sound that scraped against his bruised throat.
Edward didn't respond. His metal legs clicked as he shifted his weight again. The prosthetics were digging into what remained of his thighs, he could feel the pressure building, the familiar ache that meant he'd been standing too long.
The alley stretched between them, narrow and filthy, the distant sirens bleeding into a low, constant wail that had become the city's new heartbeat. Smoke rose in black columns beyond the rooftops, painting the gray sky in streaks of charcoal and ash. The smell of burnt rubber and scorched concrete clung to the air, thick enough to taste.
Hoshimi stood at Reina's side, his body still thrumming with the residual warmth of her healing. The wound in his abdomen had closed, the flesh knit together by her mana, but the painful reminder of Jiyeon's fingers curling inside him, it still remained.
Reina's hand rested on his shoulder. Her touch was light, almost casual, but he could feel the tension coiled beneath her skin, a predator pretending to nap.
Across from them, at the far end of the alley, stood Wei.
The old man's silk suit caught the gray light and held it like a second skin, black fabric rippling with embroidered patterns that shifted when Hoshimi tried to focus on them. His golden eyes gleamed in the shadows of his face, the only part of him that still seemed alive. His skin was too smooth, too tight, stretched across bone structure that had been sculpted by surgeons and magic and the desperate refusal to accept mortality.
"A little reunion," Wei said. His voice was smooth, almost pleasant. "How nice. I do enjoy seeing familiar faces."
"You're old," Reina observed. "Very, very old. But you're also wanted by the Chinese government. You're not supposed to be here."
"The Chinese government cannot dictate the movements of a free man."
"You're a fugitive," Reina said flatly. "A smuggler. A child trafficker. A man who's broken so many international laws that I don't even want to list them."
Wei's smile widened. "You flatter me."
"And now," Reina continued, "you're in my city. Chasing my son."
"Is he your son?" Wei's head tilted, that unnatural movement that made his neck seem longer than it should be. "You look nothing alike."
"A dead man talking."
"A beauty," Wei murmured, his gaze fixed on Reina's face. "You're much more stunning in person. The cameras don't do you justice."
Reina laughed. "You're too kind. I've been called many things, but 'stunning' is one of my favorites."
"It's the truth." Wei stepped closer, his movements fluid, graceful, the movements of a man who had spent decades perfecting the art of appearing effortless. "I was rather intrigued when the famous Reina Albert was taking care of a child, her dear little investment."
"How you flatter me." Reina's smile sharpened. "Is that what you think he is?"
"What else would he be?" Wei's golden eyes flickered to Hoshimi, assessing, cataloging.
"Mine," Reina said simply.
Wei's smile widened. "Neither do I."
Hoshimi's gaze drifted past Wei, toward the mouth of the alley. Hao stood there. His face was pale, expressionless. But something in his dark eyes had changed, something that hadn't been there when Wei had first descended from the rooftop. Hoshimi filed it away.
Wei moved.
Not toward Reina. Toward Hoshimi.
"Excuse me," Wei murmured into his ear. "I'll be borrowing this."
His hand closed around Hoshimi's collar with a grip that was iron, unbreakable, and before Hoshimi could react, before he could even think about drawing his sword, Wei was running.
Hoshimi's feet left the ground before he could react. Wei's arm wrapped around his waist, hauling him up and sideways in a single motion that compressed his ribs and drove the air from his lungs.
His footsteps were silent on the grimy alley floor, his body moving with fluid grace. Hoshimi twisted in his grip, his hands coming up, his fingers clawing at Wei's wrist, but the old man's hold was absolute.
"Damn it! Let go!"
Reina's golden eyes watched with an expression that was not concern, not fear, but something colder.
She didn't chase.
"You're struggling," Wei observed, his voice mild, almost conversational. "It won't help."
The rooftops blurred overhead. Wei leaped from ledge to ledge with the grace of something that had been doing this before Hoshimi's grandparents were born. His grip on Hoshimi's waist was iron, unbreakable, his fingers digging into the half-healed wound in his abdomen with deliberate cruelty.
"You're quite valuable," Wei said conversationally.. "But I didn't know why you were special." He clicked his tongue. "But after seeing Albert protecting you like that. Governments would pay fortunes for the chance to study you."
"Let go of me."
"No, I don't think so. Cooperation would be appreciated, but not required. I've transported unwilling cargo before."
They landed on a rooftop, Wei's feet silent on the gravel, and in that moment of impact, that brief, fractional pause between landing and leaping again, Hoshimi moved.
Not with his arms. Wei's grip had those pinned. Not with his legs, which dangled uselessly beneath him. With his head. He snapped it backward, driving the base of his skull into Wei's nose.
The crack was satisfying.
Wei's grip loosened, just slightly, just enough, and Hoshimi twisted. His elbow drove into the soft tissue of Wei's throat, his knee found Wei's solar plexus, and suddenly he was falling. He hit the rooftop hard, rolling to absorb the impact, coming up on one knee with his hand already reaching for his sword.
He twisted again, harder this time, and felt something shift in Wei's grip. Not much. Just enough. His hand found the hilt of his sword, and the blade came alive with light.
The blade flickered.
Not the familiar, steady glow that had become an extension of his own heartbeat.
Blue.
Wei's eyes widened.