She(ty for reading! u r very appreciated :D this chapter goes all over the place you see so if it seems a bit crazy, know it's because i write this with my mind in, like, four different regions)
"Echo.
"Echo.
"Echo.
"Yun."
I take a breath. It's all water. Bubbles pop against my molars and take them out like torpedos to my gums. Everything is cold. Everything is so cold I swear I'm burning up.
I say, "Yes?"
Fingers pry open my eyes. There's a glare in my eye, a white beam that threatens to strip my cornea to bleached shreds. I crack my jaw open to scream and feel the skin rip like parchment, my masseter snap like strings. The water is iron. The water is gone. The light goes with it. A woman peers down at me, crinkles her nose, takes a metal scalpel to my tongue.
"No good, no good," she says. Her face is soft. She's blurred like an abandoned oil painting. "It's not even alive."
I cough. I sputter. Something about waiting. The world is steel cold.
Fingers reach down, take my tongue right out of my mouth. Their knuckles knock my jaw crooked and take my incisors out. Clatter. Shatter. I close my eyes.
"Broken thing," she scoffs. "No one took good care of this one. Look at it! It's not even alive." The bite of a knife is at my chest. "Live a little, Eko."
I'm at a stadium. Only one light works, a starlight in the midst of the swimming shadows. I gasp for air. I run for it. Something wet squelches under my feet. I look down, only to see seers. Eyes on eyes on eyes. Some silver. Some green. Some black. All staring.
"Don't look," I plead.
"Echo?" I don't know where it comes from. I don't know where it goes. "Echo? Hey, you! This is closed! Get the fuck off my track!"
I run faster. There's a racer waiting under the spotlight. At one point, they're in pitch black leather. At another, they're in purple silks. Closer, they're in a yellow suit. Facing them, they're in a T-shirt and jeans. I skid to a stop. There's smoke. There's light. But there's shadows shadows shadows.
"I think it's closed," I say.
"That'd be obvious," they say. They take their helmet off and throw it to me. I catch it and clutch it too hard, crushing the face shield in until the glass breaks like candy bark. Elias frowns. "What'd I tell you about that? Watch the hands. You're so strong! Banhyang. Where's your heart and soul at a time like this? Hey!" He grabs me by the neck, fingers closing around my windpipe, his thumb pressing my larynx into my brain stem. "I'm right here."
"It's not real," I tell him, matter-of-factly. "It's not real."
"Says who?" Kane takes me by the back of my head, fingers tearing at my hair, scraping at my scalp. He wrenches my head back until I'm bending backwards, looking up. "Say it."
"It's not true," I say, closing my eyes. "It's not true."
"Hey." Kane wrenches my eye open. His face is his face until it's not. Mercy smiles brightly at me. Fangs. Tongue. Lips. Blood. "Banhyang. Tell me the truth, then?"
"Stop," I wheeze. I grab her by the hair. "There isn't one."
"Exactly. Être honnête." She lets me go. I fall forward. I fall into the eyes. Falling, falling, falling, falling—
Hands catch me. I take in a breath. It tastes like iron. Potent with it, really. I look around but find blackness. I gasp. I say, "Hello?"
"Echo?"
I look across. I see Zahir, Rosalie, Meredith. They're at their knees, nails digging into something soft under them, around them. They scream.
Meredith gets to her feet. She's splashed in red. It soaks her to her epidermis. "Echo," she whispers. "Echo, what happened? What is this? Why is there so much?"
I look around. I press my hand to the ground and feel it squelch. I gag. I groan. I scream, "Stop! Don't move!"
"Hey!" Zahir snaps. "This is after hours. You can't be here. Someone get him!"
Rosalie tears at her hands. "What is this? What is this, Echo? What is this?" she wails. Blood streaks her face.
I shake my head. I crumble as shadows run for me, hands outstretched, claws out. Something slices at my face, like the teeth of a key.
"What is this?" someone moans. "What is this? What is it?"
"I'm sorry," I groan. "It's not what you see."
Rip. Tear. It won't stop. It's an onslaught of knives and needles and teeth and talons. I think I'm screaming. But if I am, the sound is drowned out by the noise of my body being torn to bits. Blood leaks into my ears, lodges in the back of my throat. I sputter, gurgle, cough it out in a wet croak.
"What are you doing? What are you doing?" I open my eyes. I look up. My own face looks back. "Banhyang. Echo. Hey!"
The final tear finishes, right across my throat. I blink. I glance down, and try to find all the shadows that had followed, all the keys and scalpels shredding me to my bones.
But all I see is my own blood-covered hands, and a single key dropping from my palm.
_____________________
Mercy called me first.
The Valatro—however terrible—was likely doing its magic on Kane for the time being since he seemed to be in far better shape than before, at least in less-strenuous activities. It meant he was back to making breakfast on Saturdays and attending nightly dinners, putting Corvus back into a dilapidated pattern of normalcy. No one had commented on the Valatro since the match either, likely not keen on shaking the fragile peace we'd finally acquired after all the chaos of the past several weeks. I was with them on it.
"You need help?"
I glanced up. Kane stood, half-awake, leaned against the door frame. He jutted his chin at my hair, which was damp with the last of my purple and blue hair dye, like a mixed berry slushie.
I hesitated. "No."
"You look like you need help."
"Probably," I agreed.
Kane snagged the bottle from my hand. He said, "I'm surprised your hair has survived all this damage."
"Bold of you to assume it has," I said. "I'll be bald by thirty."
"What a sight. Give me some gloves."
I gave him some.
He seemed to have his energy back for practice, too. For the first time in a while.
"Good work, good work," Coach said with a nod as we ran off the track. She gave Kane a keen look. "You seem in good shape."
Kane pulled the helmet from his head and pulled a hand through his sweaty hair. He slumped against the wall. "Better shape," he acknowledged.
"I'll take it." She gestured towards the locker rooms. "We'll end it here. Wash up!"
Diego slung an arm over Kane's shoulders. "Hey, hey, the king returns to his throne, eh?" He laughed, then grimaced. "Yeesh, you smell like a lobo from the woods. Someone get the hose!"
Kane shoved him off and Diego laughed. Zahir patted Kane's back, then paused. "A shower sounds good."
"Give me a break," he muttered, swatting him off. "I haven't been to the gym or practice in two weeks."
"We can tell," Rosalie said cheekily. "Better wash up, lobo."
"Ah, Rosie, I knew you listened to me," Diego said, grinning wide.
"You don't smell like flowers yourself. Get off of me."
I sidled up to Kane as we walked. "Dinner?"
Kane considered that. "Dinner."
I smiled.
And for other things, as well.
"What about your shoulder?" I asked, pulling my mouth back from his.
Kane cocked a brow. "What about it?"
"You're pretty smart for a dumbass," I said. I unwound my legs from his waist, pushing myself up. The sunlight burned my bare back, warm with the heat from naked skin and waning dusk. "How is it?"
"Fine," he said, pulling me back against him with a hand around my waist. "If it wasn't, you'd know."
"I doubt that. Hey." I dodged his mouth. "Focus here."
"I am," he argued. He slid his fingers up my thigh, and granted, Kane was nothing if not a quick-thinker.
I allowed myself a moment of it before pinching his nose and sliding out of his grasp. Kane flinched and gaped at me. "Cruel," he murmured.
"Put some pants on," I replied, snagging my shirt from the floor. "I'm not letting you fuck me all wounded like that."
He sat behind me, forehead against my neck. His hand snaked around my arms, just to hold me where I was. I raised a brow. "If you think you're being sneaky—"
"Calm down, Jesus Christ," he muttered. "You talk so much I'm surprised there's any oxygen left for the rest of us." He rested his chin on my shoulder. "I'm just resting."
"On me?"
"With you." He let his fingertips tap against my thigh, my arms, the line above my hips, the beryllium scar on my stomach. "There's a difference."
I sighed. "Semantics." I leaned my head back, letting it fall on his sun-soaked skin. I let my chest ache to the world, the thin oxygen in the air. I wondered briefly, if I really were to die this year, if this was a pleasant way to go out.
I figured yes.
For the most part, for a little while, it was nice to pretend all over again.
So when I was halfway through a five-stack of blueberry pancakes only to receive the Unknown Number call I'd dreaded for so many weeks on end, you can imagine just how disappointed I was to revert to reality once more.
"For the love of all that's holy, Yun," Rosalie sighed, placing a hand on her chest after she had just nearly had a heart attack over the ricocheting clatter of my fork on the ground. "It's nine o'clock in the morning, what are you having a seizure over?"
I didn't answer. I couldn't hear her over the sound of my own screaming heartbeat.
Kane frowned. "What's wrong?"
I bolted from my chair, grabbing the fork and throwing it into the sink. "Nothing," I urged. "I gotta go."
"What?"
"Echo," Meredith started, but I was already halfway to my room.
"Sorry," was all I managed, before I was shutting the door in their face.
I clicked to answer and held my breath.
"Ghostie!" Mercy sang the moment I put the phone to my ear. "How's my champion?"
"What do you want?" I snapped.
"You know, you really should learn phone manners, hon. Such a vital skill in the world of a celebrity."
"What," I gritted, "do you want?"
She hummed against my ear. "I saw your match against the Terriers last week. Such a treat! Looks like all that underground racing did you well? It almost reminds me of the old days when you were a nobody and a nothing. Good thing that is over, yes? Now it seems like you are all anyone ever wants to talk about." She laughed. "I hope the price of being somebody isn't too high of one for you to pay."
My skin went clammy at that. I clenched the phone tight. "Tell me why you're calling me or I'm hanging up now."
"Hasty, hasty!" she hurried. "All right, you're a man of demand, I see, I see! Hey. Hey. I can cooperate?" She sighed. "I was trying to make conversation and lighten your mood a bit before the news, but if you are so eager to hear, then fine," she muttered. "I need your unconditional called in."
As inevitable as those words were, seeing a bullet and feeling it didn't dull the sting of either.
I nearly keeled over just by hearing it. I clasped the edge of the bed frame and closed my eyes. "When?" I said, dread dripping from my voice.
"Tonight," she said. "Lani."
"Fuck," I muttered. "What the hell are we going there for?"
"Time is ticking on your father, Ghostie. You know that, don't you? We've discussed this many times? Hello? Hello! Hey, is this thing on?" I heard her babble with her mouth open and closed. "Better call maintenance. Speaking of, how's the king?"
"When does the waiting start?"
"Right after this, of course. Got to go out with a bang, you see!" She giggled. "Your father's losing credit, you see, so the process has been a bit sped up thanks to a third of his shareholders transferring to Janchi already. Seems all his 'health issues' and 'security breaches' are doing us some good. Are we not professionals?"
"Professional instigators," I said. "What does Janchi say?"
"Says your father is as good as dead come January," she said, and I swore I would have been less shocked by a wrecking ball to my gut. "Says the twins are in dire need of a thorough conversation. If you make it to that point, of course. After all, your brother's word takes precedence over yours."
"Thanks for the reminder," I snapped. "What're we doing back in Lani?"
She paused. "There's a swinging party in town, Ghost. You do not want to miss it."
I pursed my lips. I said, "Tell me it won't get me killed."
"I think you are long past that point, no?" she said. "The 'getting killed' part, that is." When I gave no answer, she said, "Bring your gun. Wear nice shoes. It's a party! Don't you want to look pretty?"
"Mercy—"
"JJ will find you at nine."
With that, the line clicked dead.
I closed my eyes. I dropped the phone to the bedsheets.
If you make it to that point, of course.
"Echo!" Kane knocked on my door. "Either finish your food or clean it up, don't leave your shit out here. Were you raised by wolves?"
"Wolves!" Diego hooted. "What a joke."
I gritted my teeth together. I shoved my phone into my pocket.
"Coming," I called.
The night came for me like a wild beast.
_________________________
I was dressed for a funeral. Mine, to be specific.
I'd bothered to pry on my suit and Ferragamos for the occasion, half because Mercy had put in a specific request and half because its color and shape was ambiguous enough to stuff my gun and knife into my jacket without eliciting questions. Kane had once said something about knowing at least three things about a man within five seconds of looking at his suit. Soaked in the scent of iron, alcohol, and gasoline, I didn't really want to know what he could deduce from mine.
My flip phone had been shut off along with my access to my computer, leaving me with no other form of contact via device except the Atlas phone. To bring it along was an idea that begged trouble, but to leave it would likely leave more questions than I was prepared to answer. I weighed my chances for a brief minute, then snagged it off the top of the bed stand and shoved it into my jacket's inner pocket.
"Where are you going?" Kane had asked me when I told him I wasn't joining Corvus for dinner at Nancy's.
I hesitated. "I've...I'm meeting Nia and Cass for dinner instead. We might stay in the Splinter for a while—the night." I tugged at my collar. "Don't worry about me for the night."
Kane stared for a second too long, but said, "Okay."
Kenzo had given me a long, hard stare as I said such, but he was an obstacle I didn't have the energy to face at the moment. I needed to bear whatever the hell Mercy had in store for her unconditional. It sure as shit wasn't something light-hearted if we were going all the way to Lani for it.
All of which puts me a silver Maserati outside of a booming black-tie canine club, parked with JJ at the passenger's side and unease awaiting us within the neon lights.
I said, "Why'd Mercy call me in for this?"
JJ plucked the cigarette from his lips and tapped the ashes on the concrete outside. The night air was chilly, lifeless and cold as a corpse against my skin. I shivered even under the silky layers. He said, "You'll know."
"I'll know? That doesn't sound good."
"When has any call from Mercy been good?" he asked, as if I was being stupid on purpose. "Just wait for me to come get you when she gives us the signal."
"What kind of bear trap am I walking into here?"
"You wanted to go to Korea, kid," he scoffed. "You pay the price for it. You promised an unconditional, after all. That was your idea, not hers. Reap what you sow."
I huffed. "You people really suck sometimes, you know that? No one will even tell me why all my devices were shut down, either."
"Creatures in crime," JJ drawled. "If you don't suck, you're not doing it right. And Mercy already told you, shit is getting realer, things are starting to close off. You're only becoming more and more of a pain in the ass to protect, you know. You were wasting all that access on your goddamn crows anyway. Now shut the fuck up and let me listen."
I shut up. Your crows. Mine. I thought back to Korea; the sweet sunlight of the morning, the cold waves in the night, Kane pressed against my back, wound up in my limbs, resting against my heart as if to remind it to beat, the whole drawing of it like a hazy oil painting lost to time.
I sighed. Just get through this. Just make it through one more job. Then...
Then what?
I didn't want to think about it.
JJ shifted in his seat, sitting up. He glanced from his flip phone to the booming club, whose noise level was steadily increasing at an alarming rate. JJ glanced at me. "Stay here," he said, before opening the door and shutting it tight behind him. He headed for the doors.
I leaned back against the leather and snagged a cigarette from his pack left at the center console. "Fucking hell," I sighed. "And I don't even get paid."
My phone buzzed. I jerked a little in surprise, then withdrew it.
10:10 PM - Rosie
YOUR BDAY IS IN NOV U DIDNT SAY SO WHAT THF FUC ECHO
NO
WE CELRBERATE
*CELEBRATE
YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN
Chocolate or vanilla ?? don't say both I don't do that shit pick one or some other flavor idc
There's bets on chocolate tho so win me some money
My lip quirked at that. I reached to text her back.
"Ghost."
I looked up. Trinity stared me down with murder. Blood was splattered over her perfect blue suit, stained her pale blue, siren skin. She grit her serrated teeth at me and pointed a red finger at the building, her own hand holding her ribs to stem the bullet wound that had ripped through her skin.
Moment over.
"Get the fuck in there now!" she roared.
I flicked the cigarette away. "What the hell happened?" I huffed. The music was beginning to crescendo, but not with bass. Rather, with screams.
"It's a fucking ambush," she hissed. "We fell for a trap, Hornet is here. Get your ass up, we gotta grab Aliya." She grabbed me by the back of my blazer when I didn't move fast enough and wrenched me out into the street. "Now!"
"Demanding," I wheezed. I scrambled to my feet and bolted.
A rush of partygoers burst through the doors and every other available exit, tumbling out in sparkling crowds and hazy storm clouds. I shoved my way through and past them in some poor attempt to get inside. The heat itself was nearly unbearable. The stench of blood was worse.
I finally went tripping inside, my gun in my hand and the party floor soaked with bodies, glasses, bottles, and glitter. I barely got a second to gag before someone was grabbing me by the back of the neck.
"Upstairs," JJ ordered. "You're to get to Aliya."
"With who?" I snapped. "Hornet is pure RIYU massacre, they'll kill me on sight."
"Then don't get killed," he replied plainly. "You're always on getaway duty, Ghost. You ought to get involved in the action more, no?" He shoved me forward. "Tie her up. We'll find you."
"JJ—"
He was gone, like a figment.
I clenched my fists. The burst of a bullet above me snapped me down to my knees. I crawled past broken glass until I was hiding behind the bar, my hands over my head and shielding my eyes from the debris. Shouts were unintelligible over the music still blasting through the walls. I hauled myself up and peeked over the countertop.
Three Hornets were armed and shooting anything that dared to move, their eyes dark and their fingertips black with wicked fae blood. I cursed. One of them flicked their eyes towards me.
I dodged the first bullet. I swung myself around the edge of the counter and aimed, shooting a clean line right at the fae's head. It caught her in her cranium. Her friend shot at my feet and I felt the distinct scrape of a bullet against my calf. I let the bullets fly at her stomach. One caught her in the hip, the other catching the last fae in her gut. They screeched at the impact, and I took their brief distraction as my opportunity. I scrambled across the glass shards. My feet pounded for the stairs.
It was no enviable position to be in, crawling past red, glittering bodies and kicking my way past desperate, bloody hands, I'll tell you that. It was less so to hear the borage of Hornets that awaited me on the next floor.
I took a breath.
Just get through this.
I headed up.
A corridor of private rooms stood between me and the stairs for the final floor. Within that, a dozen Hornets stood. All of which turned their pitch black eyes on me the moment I stepped inside.
"Well," I muttered. "Fuck me."
"Bengal," a Hornet hissed.
"Not my first choice, you gotta know," I promised. "Where's Aliya?"
A Hornet let out a raucous laugh at that, then pointed his knife right at my throat. "Kill him."
I shot him in the torso, the bullet tearing through his solar plexus. A Hornet jumped on me from behind and wound a vicious arm around my neck, nails out like claws aimed for my throat. I dropped my gun and kicked it clear across the corridor until it plopped right onto the steps leading upstairs. I reached into my jacket and withdrew the only knife I'd bothered to bring. A dozen on one. Elementary, really.
I sank the blade blindly behind me and breathed relief when I heard the distinct snap and squelch of bone and flesh being pierced. I ripped it from her, and with it, a blood-curdling scream. A Hornet charged for me, gun outstretched, finger on the trigger. I bolted for him and tore the knife right into his palm. He screeched. The gun dropped uselessly at my feet.
I snagged it from the ground. One Hornet swiped for me with claws and blade. I swung my foot into her side and felt the leather collide with her ribs. I slammed the sole of my shoe onto her throat without hesitation and jammed the gun against her temple. I pulled the trigger. The air was neck-deep in iron.
A hand ripped my head back so hard I felt hair tear out of my scalp. A knife rested on my esophagus. "You will pay for that dearly," he hissed.
"Hey, man," I strained, fingers tightening around the knife's hilt. "I'm just following orders."
I sunk the blade into his thigh. He let out a howling cry that loosened his grip on my head. My body went careening as I attempted to yank myself free. But his blade was still there, and drew a clean slash across my throat. Not deep enough to hit an artery. But certainly deep enough to send a jolt of panic into my bloodstream.
A Hornet caught my arm and swung. Her fist held so much force behind it that it nearly went right through me. My lungs popped and I crumbled, gun and knife slipping out of my grip. She punched me again, harder. Iron bloomed in my mouth. A heavy-heeled boot collided with my face. My lip split like a fault line. My nose gushed red like a river.
"Fucking animals," she sneered. "Like dogs."
I coughed, spat out a mouthful of red onto the corridor's cold floor. "Yeah," I acquiesced. "Basically."
I swung my fist without much aim, but thanked God when I felt it strike something solid. My knuckles sunk into her cheekbone. It relieved me just enough space to slide out of her grip and scrabble at the ground for my gun or knife or anything at all.
I clasped something that felt enough like a weapon to me. A hand snagged me by my collar and I swung it at them. They screamed, holding their eye as blood poured. I looked down at the knife.
"Fucking bitch," the Hornet roared.
"Sorry," I muttered. I got to my feet.
Nails sunk into my back and ripped. I hissed at the feeling of fabric and skin tearing clean off. I thrust the blade behind me and caught the Hornet by the shoulder. I spun, wrenched the knife from their shoulder, threw my leg under them in a sweeping move. They fell with a shout.
"It's not personal," I promised.
I turned to run. The stairs waited ahead of me, a golden gate to the end of this hell. I bolted for it.
A gunshot rang out through the corridor.
I felt the impact like a sucker punch to my stomach. All breath left me. All blood drained.
I looked down.
A bullet had sailed right through the side of my stomach, through the suit, through my muscle. I choked, either from the wound on my throat or the dread seeping into me like an infusion from the sight of blood blooming on my torso at too fast of a rate. Too fast. Too soon. I held onto my chest.
I turned around. The Hornet held her gun at me, eye dripping, her arm holding her stomach. She only stood for a few more moments, swaying, trembling. Then, without another bullet to shoot, dropped to the ground. She didn't move again.
I stared at them, strewn about in a scarlet massacre. Blood that was mine and wasn't had soaked into my suit, my hair, my mouth, my bones. I stood in the ruins.
Just get through this.
I closed my eyes. I turned around, holding my abdomen. I grabbed my gun from the stairs and headed for the final floor.
Just get through this.
Just get through this.
Just get through this.
My vision was a hazy, crimson Hell I couldn't escape.
Wake up.
The final floor was empty.
I readied my gun when I crested the final few steps, but upon entering the corridor, there was nothing but blue floors and walls with the scent of a dried-up party to face. I held the gun in my shaking hands for a few more seconds, as if readying for an ambush. But none came.
I pursed my lips. I put the gun in my pocket and limped through the hall. The doors were thrown open, drinks and treats scattered across the room, but no blood and no bodies to show any evidence of anything more than a few hasty guests. I frowned, as much as I could with my throat. Aliya. Aliya. Aliya.
I stopped at the last door, at the end of the hall. Unlocked, just a crack.
My hand pushed it open.
A fae sat on the couch, curled up with her knees to her chest. A side of her head was bleeding, some of it already dried on her brows and cheek. Her black eyes were tear-stained and tired. Her nails were crusted with red, but lay harmlessly on her knees, which were once shrouded in a glittery blue gown.
She looked up at me. I looked down at her.
"You are a Bengal," she deduced, not quite a question.
I said, "Yes."
Aliya hummed, then said, "You look very young to be doing that."
I said, "Probably."
"You are here to take me to them."
"Yeah."
"What if I don't want to go?"
I shrugged. "Then, you don't want to go," I said. "But, I'm still gonna have to take you."
"Why?"
"Beats me," I admitted. "I die if I don't."
"I'll die if you do."
"Maybe," I acknowledged. "It's not personal."
Aliya craned her head at me. She said, "How old are you?"
"Dunno. Old enough to be here."
"You are my age."
"Probably."
"Why don't you say for sure?"
"It's what you want to believe," I sighed. "Who am I to stop you?"
She said, "What do you believe?"
"Doesn't matter." I spat out more blood.
"It does to me."
"No. It doesn't." I searched the room. I grabbed an abandoned shawl, a shred of a dress. I ripped them up until they resembled ropes and limped for her. "I'd appreciate if you didn't lie. I kinda hate liars."
"What are you then?"
I wrapped her wrists in the silk and tied it tight. She just stared at me, waiting. I said, "How do you think I know I hate them?"
Aliya said nothing to that. I tied her mouth, then her elbows. I lifted my hand from my abdomen to my eyes. The blood was dark. Dangerous.
I sighed. "Come on," I told her, hoisting her up by her shoulder. "Before I bleed out here."
Aliya didn't argue. She let me hold her, and together, we limped through the hall. Back down the stairs. Back through the massacre. Back down the stairs.
"You did that, didn't you?" she asked me.
"Sorry," I said.
"You say that. Do you mean it?"
"Not how you want me to," I said.
She considered that. "You're sorry you did it?"
I paused. "I'm sorry you know I did."
Aliya blinked.
We walked wordlessly.
I emerged from the back exit. Mercy and JJ stood by the silver Maserati, waiting patiently. Mercy smiled a pristine grin at me.
"Why, Ghostie," she drawled. "Look at you!"
I dropped Aliya's arm. I said, "Here. We're done."
Mercy grinned at Aliya. Aliya sneered at her. JJ grabbed her by the back of her head and pushed her down. He dragged her like he would a disobedient dog towards the car and threw her in the back. When the door slammed shut, JJ turned on me and said, "How the hell are you gonna fix that one?"
"Fix what?" I muttered.
JJ gestured at all of me. I could only muster up a shrug. The blood loss was beginning to get to me, my vision crackling at the edges and my limbs shaking with the effort to keep myself upright. I squeezed the wound tight despite the ache in some futile attempt to close it as much as I could.
I said, "Just get me back. We're done here."
JJ let out a sharp laugh. Mercy cocked her head at me, still smiling, however mirthless. She raised a brow. "Get you...back?"
I narrowed my eyes. "Yes," I said. "Get me back."
"Get you...back," she repeated. "Back where? Back home?"
"I said I'd be at the Talon by morning," I replied.
"Sounds like a promise you made," she said. "Sounds like a you problem."
"What?"
"With Aliya here, we've got no room, Ghostie! After all, the hostage takes precedence. Incentive makes a dog beg, you see." Mercy clapped her hands together. "You understand, yes? After all, you gave me an unconditional."
My whole body had been dunked in ice water. I stared. "Avaldi is an hour drive away."
"The nearest hospital seems to be three miles from here," Mercy said, tapping black talons on her chin. "If you get going, you'll be there soon enough."
"You know I can't go there," I hissed.
"Oops! My misstep." Mercy giggled. She turned on her glittering heel. "Forgive me?"
"You can't leave me here." I limped towards her and grasped her sleeve tight. She made a face at me, something like a sneer and a snarl, like the very thought of me touching her disgusted her. "I'll bleed out—the cops will be here soon—I'll bleed out. Mercy."
"Mercy, he says," she hissed. She flicked my fingers off of her. "Mercy, he begs for, as if his very life is not mercy enough. Greed is too casual for you, Ghost. It's why promises don't look good on you."
"You can't leave me," I begged. Panic was magma in my veins, a sinking guillotine on my neck. "Please."
She sank a nail into my throat, where the gash was still open. I hissed at the sting. She pushed harder.
"You want to go to Korea, play house for the weeks, risk every bet I have placed on your head, put your precious brother on my back?" she snarled. "You want to play, Ghost, you should know that does not come for free."
"You can't do this," I tried. "I'll die, Mercy."
"You have survived far worse, no? Have some faith in yourself," she said flippantly, waving me away. "You have gotten this far. Don't tell me all it takes is a bullet to end it now. Really, Ghost! Self-respect, yes?" She winked. "Safe travels."
"Mercy—"
She shut the car door behind her. JJ glanced at me, then shrugged. He got in the car.
I slammed my fist into the hood. "Mercy," I said. "Stop."
She rolled down the window. "It's an unconditional, hon," she drawled, and gave me a wicked grin. "No questions asked."
The wheels roared to life at that. I fell back from the gust of exhaust. Mercy gave a flittering wave, Aliya staring at me from the passenger window, soundless. The car skidded off the dirt, and onto the black road. I watched it drive away into the night, with me in its wake.
I clutched my abdomen. A sick dread was cold and clammy all over me, squeezing my stomach so tight I thought I'd vomit. I spat out another mouthful of blood, the color dark and deep. I lifted my hand up to my face, watched drops of crimson fall from my fingertips. I cursed violently. My bones ached with the effort just to breathe.
You can't leave me here.
I looked around. At the abandoned club. At the valleys of nothingness. At the unfamiliar roads and the unfamiliar night. I took in a sputtering gasp, coughed wetly onto the soil. Salt and water blurred my vision, as if I'd been dunked into the sea. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. No one.
I was alone.
I tried to weigh my options, but every single one came up short. Every road was too long to take. I wouldn't survive the walk to the Talon. Heading for a hospital would bring the cops after me in a second. No Bengal nearby or far away would help me against Mercy's orders. Nothing. Nothing.
My hand pushed me up shakily. I reached into my jacket and withdrew my phone. I cursed when I glanced at the bars. SOS.
"Fuck," I hissed. I hoisted myself up as best as I could, but couldn't withhold the shout when waves of pain rolled over my muscles. I gasped for breath. Hastily, I clung to a nearby street sign pole just to keep myself upright. My fingers shook so badly I had to tear off my gloves just to use the damn device.
I scrolled through any and every contact I could think to call, but none could be called from where I was. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.
I squeezed my eyes shut, felt the salt run into the cuts on my face. I cursed again and again.
You have to make sure it's yours.
I slumped against the pole. My phone grew heavier in my hand by the minute, the gun in my jacket hot and the knife in my pocket damp. Everything burned so badly, it felt like nothing at all.
Lani whispered no mercy for me.
I lifted my phone to my face. My fingers shook, stained the glass red where I swiped through. At the corner of the screen, SOS emergency contacts appeared, a red one at its corner. I pressed it.
SOS Emergency Contacts Available
kane
I closed my eyes. Blood was thicker in my mouth, only growing worse by the second. I pushed my palm against the gunshot wound, winced at the squelch like a second bullet. Nothing. Nothing. No one.
"I'm sorry," I said to no one.
I pushed the contact, and lifted the phone to my ear.
The ring was deafening.
It took all of an eon and a second for Kane to pick up.
"For fuck's sake," Kane muttered, his voice coated in rock salted sleep. "Do you know what time it is? If you forgot your key again, Echo, I'm gonna—"
"Hyung," I said. My voice shook from the cold, from the blood loss. Saturated with undeserved apology.
Kane went quiet. He said, "What's wrong?"
I didn't know if it was blood or tears clouding my vision or clogging my throat. Still, I tried to speak through the ache. "I'm sorry," I breathed. "I'm sorry, I didn't—I can't call anyone else, I don't know how...I didn't know anyone else."
"Echo," Kane said. "What's wrong?"
Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.
The night swallowed me whole.
"Can someone come get me?" I said.
I heard a rustle, a shake. Something click on. "Where are you?"
"Lani. The Box."
Kane cursed, muttered something to himself. I said, "Kane—"
"Stay where you are. Conserve your battery."
The line clicked to an end.
[Warning : Low battery life : 15%]
I slid down until I was seated against the pole. I let the phone drop into my lap.
Then I hope you're willing—
I tilted my head up to the night sky. The stars watched me, with no pity in their eyes. I couldn't blame them.
—to pay her price.
If guilt was a plague, I would have long been a body in a bag by now.
I had foregone my shirt in some shitty attempt to wrap the bullet wound up tight enough that the blood loss would slow. It did enough to keep me awake, but my head was long gone in a haze and my limbs buzzing with numbness by the time I was found. It was partially why, when a beaming black Corolla pulled up in front of me, I figured I was already dead and dreaming. It was partially why, when Kane stepped out of the driver's side, I was fully convinced.
"Echo?"
I blinked the high beams, watching the Kane-like figure walk towards me. When their face came to, one eye silver, one eye black, I didn't know whether to be grateful or mortified.
"Echo," Kane breathed. His hands held my face, ran over my body, found the wound in my side. His hands came away stained. He turned my head up. "Echo."
I swallowed the blood, coughed on it. I stared blearily at him. "Yeah," I rasped. "That's me."
"Fucking hell." Kane took my jacket from where it was draped over me. He wrapped it around my shoulders. He lifted me up with an arm under my shoulders. "Come on."
I did my best to stay with him, my feet dragging along concrete towards the car. Soon enough, there was something solid under me and the faint scent of soap and leather. The rumble of an engine, the blast of a heater.
I decided to be mortified.
"I'm sorry," I tried, as best as I could. "I'm—"
"Just stop." I looked at him. He had glasses. I hadn't remembered that on him before. Hazy. Foggy. Swimming, swimming. "Just focus on not bleeding out right now."
It's why promises don't look good on you.
I let my eyes fall shut.
We drove away.
_____________________
[Warning : Low battery life : 1%]
[Systems shutting down...]
[Please recharge]
[Please recharge]
[Please recharge]
____________________
Ramos answered on the first knock.
Kane had foregone letting me attempt the stairs and had hoisted me onto his back instead when we arrived. The only thing I could muster was, "Your shoulder." The best Kane could give me was, "Shut up and breathe."
Upon opening the door, I could only imagine the sight we were, Kane's pajamas splattered with dirt and bloody handprints, me looking like a surviving refugee from a butcher factory, the hour too late to be acceptable and our faces too frantic to be friendly. Ramos, clad in holiday flannel and sleep, was of course, jarred.
"We need help," was all Kane greeted her with.
Ramos opened her mouth, closed it, then flicked on her lights and turned on her heel. "Come in. Quickly."
We went in.
Ramos laid out several towels on the couch. Kane set me down atop them before retreating to the hall where Ramos ordered him to grab her medical bag. She sat in front of me with a wet rag and gloves.
"Sorry," I tried, "for barging in."
"Don't, don't." She touched where my shirt was tied, although the once-white silk was now wine red. "What is this? Tell me that."
"Gun," I told her.
"Anywhere else you were shot?"
I shook my head.
"All right. I'm gonna untie this. I've got to clean all your wounds, it'll sting, but you've got to stay still."
I just nodded.
Kane returned with her bag. He set it down on the coffee table. "What happened?" he asked her.
"Gunshot," she told him, and he flinched. She untied the shirt and peeled it off of me, dropping it onto the towels. "There's a piece of shrapnel in there, I have to get it out before I can clean it." She glanced at Kane, then said, "Here. Sit with him. It'll hurt."
Kane didn't hesitate. He sat beside me, pulled my head into his lap. He stared at the wound though, like he could burn it off just by looking at it.
Ramos sank her forceps in.
I jerked away, groaning at the ache that spiked through me. Kane pushed my down. Ramos said, "Hold still. You have to hold still."
She tried again. I bit down on my cheek at the sting, but my cheek was scratched and it only stung more, my lip tearing when I opened my mouth, my lungs burning when I tried to speak. No matter where I went, what I did, something hurt. Something always had to hurt. The world was red, red, red.
Kane rested his hand on my forehead. "Stay still," he whispered. I looked up at him. But I could barely make anything out in the fog of pain that had infested my body. I closed my eyes. I clung to his voice for dear life. "It'll be okay."
It'll be. But when?
"I got it," Ramos said. She took a breath. The distinct zipper of her bag opening met my ears. "Keep an eye on him. This is going to take a while."
Kane brushed the hair from my face. For a moment, just a blink, I was on the sands in Busan, the water in my ears, summer like a blanket on my bare skin, with Kane humming a song above me.
I left my eyes closed, perhaps just to stay in the illusion just a little longer.
When I'm looking at you
You seem faraway like a dream.
I couldn't tell you the time between when I fell asleep and when I woke up. Nor could I tell you anything that happened within that time frame. The only thing I can give you is what happened after I woke up.
I blinked awake, bleary-eyed but alert, my mind wafting alive with the scent of coffee and rain. I made a move to get up, but it was a rather poor one considering the onslaught of pain that ricocheted like a gong through my body at the attempt.
I hissed. I tried to lift my hands up, but they were trapped under something. I glanced down, only to find a blanket layered over me, encasing my limbs. With more effort than I cared to admit, I managed to withdraw my arm just enough to tear it off.
Bandages swaddled me from my hands all the way up to my biceps. My torso had been thoroughly wrapped as well with gauze and cotton, spotted with dried blood. My face was dry from the tears and the dirt and the wind, although some of it was still damp with patches and fresh ointment. I reached tentatively up to my neck, felt the patchwork of stitches there. I reached behind and felt lidocaine patches running down my spine.
A heavy sigh escaped me. I blinked up at the blaring golden light that seemed to bellow down at me. I swallowed, but the action itself stung and I ended up coughing instead, which was equally if not more painful.
I clawed helplessly at my throat, wheezing from the lack of air in my lungs. A hand held the back of my neck and another snagged my wrist back.
"Stop. Stop that." Kane tugged harder and I froze. He sighed. "Jeez, Echo. You're gonna pull out all your stitches within the hour. Hey. Quit gagging. Breathe."
I breathed. Kane let me have a crisis over it for a few more seconds before releasing me. He sat on the edge of the couch, waiting for me to right myself. I tried not to look at the fresh bandage on his forearm.
After a few moments, I finally managed to sit up. I inhaled. I said, "What happened?"
Kane crossed his arms. "You lost a lot of blood, but Ramos says as long as you eat and rest, you should be okay without any kind of transfusion. You bruised a rib, you've got a few stitches on your neck and lip and stomach. But nothing's infected, and everything will heal with time."
I nodded slowly. I could deal with that. All I could deduce was "and you'll live", which was good enough for me.
I stared at Kane. I said, "How did you drive?"
Kane blinked, like the question was the last thing he expected to come from my mouth. He took a moment to consider me. "I have a license," he said.
"Your eyes—"
"Aren't completely dysfunctional," he said.
I swallowed. "But, whose car...?"
Kane chewed his lip. "Mine," he said. "It's sort of a 'end-all' emergency vehicle we keep in the private garage."
I could only nod at that explanation. I pushed my nails into my legs, but hissed at the sting in the pads of my fingers. Kane made a move towards me, then hesitated. My chest squeezed.
I said, "Aren't you gonna ask?"
He blinked. "I'm not gonna interrogate you in your state," he said.
"Then, can I explain?"
"I'd rather you not. Just rest."
"Kane."
"Let's not talk now." He got up and headed for the kitchen. "Just rest."
I let him leave.
Ramos took his place a moment later with a bowl of oatmeal and a cup of water. She set it down on the table, alongside two pills.
"Here." She handed me the water and the meds. "Painkillers."
I took a swig of the water and popped the pills. It took a herculean effort to swallow without choking on the sting. I grimaced at the oatmeal.
"It'll help," she promised. "I think you should stay here for another night or so, to recover. Then you can head back to the Talon. King said he'd tell the team not to ask."
I winced. "It's okay, Ramos," I said. "I already barged in late last—"
"It's not really an offer," she said, pursing her lips. "I don't think you're in any shape to move around." She took the bowl and held it between us, then gave me a sad smile. "I told you my door is open for you, whenever you need. No one barged in on anyone." She gestured at the oatmeal. "Now, eat."
Every ounce of me wanted to crumble in on myself. Maybe I would have been better left in the dirt in Lani, nothing but the stars to see me goodbye, no one but me to blame. It would have been well-deserved. I didn't know if I wanted to sleep or cry or flee as fast as possible. I just knew seeing any of Corvus's faces would kill me faster than that bullet ever had a chance at. Just seeing Ramos smile was the equivalent of being crushed by a boulder.
Just get through this.
But it'd been more than five years since I'd gotten out.
I took the bowl with trembling fingers. I said, "Thank you." Maybe because it felt like the only response I could give.
"Just rest, yeah?" she said.
Such a simple command had never seemed so difficult.
I took the spoon up, and ate in silence.
I awoke in intervals.
I fell immediately back asleep following breakfast, and only woke up groggily, half-awake, to sudden sounds or presences. I'd awoken to Ramos changing the wrapping of the bullet wound, to Kane holding a glass of water and another pill in his hand, to Ramos answering the door with a shake of her head, to Kane brushing the hair from my forehead without speaking, to Ramos telling Kane something that sounded important.
"He'll never tell me," Kane sighed.
"I think you should talk to him then, about your side," she said. "You'll only resent him if you don't ask. No one knows. But you're the closest person to him."
"Am I?" he snapped. "Because as of right now, I feel a lot like I'm in the fucking dark."
"Some people have their secrets."
"Some people are their secrets," Kane said, and even if I wasn't awake enough to wince, I knew I'd be flinching about it for the next decade.
"You say that like you know."
"Two wrongs don't make a right." Footsteps. The click of a door. "I have to talk to Coach. I'll be back in a few hours."
"Kane." A beat of silence. "You can be angry."
I let my eyes slip shut, and fell back asleep before I could catch his response.
The only time I truly woke up was late in the evening, my body pumped full of painkillers, Ramos too tired to watch over me, leaving nothing but the empty city and the golden living room light as my guardians. In a way, it was a relief.
I squinted at the clock. 11:33 PM. The day had fled. Maybe God was real after all.
I grabbed the back of the couch to hoist myself upright. I pushed the blankets off my body, the heat a bit sticky on my skin. My eyes took their sweet time to adjust before discovering the kitchen lamp was on. So I breathed in the cool air and the lonely light, and pushed myself to my feet.
Standing took focus, but with the pain dulled, it was bearable enough to endure. I headed for it with dragging feet and not much of a goal.
"You're awake."
I could recognize the voice within milliseconds. I leaned on the counter. "Yeah," I said. "The power of a nap."
Kane appeared on my left. A new streak of silver had broken through the black dye, and it glowed in the dim light. He opened the fridge and took out a Tupperware of some sort of soup. "Ramos made some stew, there's bread in the cabinet. You hungry?"
I considered that. "A little. I can help."
"You barely made it here," he drawled. He gestured at the coach. "Sit. Make it easier on me."
I considered arguing, but ultimately decided against it and made the slow, shameful walk back to the couch. Kane took all of ten minutes to reheat the stew and toast the bread, his face seemingly plain without much turmoil to show for yesterday's events. He set everything on a tray, before heading to the coffee table and setting it down in front of me.
Just get through—
"Eat what you can," he said, sitting down in the armchair beside me. "Ramos has a last round of medicine for you."
I pursed my lips. "When am I going back to the Talon?"
"Tomorrow, maybe the day after. Depends," he said. He looked me over. "Although, you seem like you should stay another day here."
I winced at that. I stared at the stew, somewhat forlorn. My stomach churned at the thought of eating, at the idea of sitting here with Kane in silence like nothing was wrong. I pushed the tray back.
"You gotta eat," Kane muttered.
"Just be mad at me," I said. "Please."
"I'm not mad at you."
"Be something at me."
"Why?" he said, rubbing his temples. "What does that fix?"
In a way, it was more selfish of me to ask in the first place. But I felt every option was another bout of selfishness unto me. I was never where I was supposed to be.
"I'm sor—"
"Just stop." Kane shook his head. His voice was pained, fraying at the ends. "Just...stop saying that." He sighed. "I'm not mad at you, all right? I'm just figuring this out. You gotta see it from where I am, I don't know what's wrong, you won't tell me, it's all very..." Kane dropped his hand. "It's hard to understand someone in fragments."
I pursed my lips at that. Kane was right. Two wrongs didn't make a right, and two secrets didn't absolve each other. There were only so many gaps that could be allowed before the picture became unrecognizable.
You either trust me, or you fucking don't.
"Trust" had never been in my lexicon, never on my radar, in my peripheral. It had always been a distant burden I dreaded the idea of bearing. The price had always been too high to pay and the risk never worth the consequences. Even if I did earn my life back from my family, it was to be a life that started from square one. Echo Yun, Class I Drachmann Omega, murderer and butcher, liar and thief, amateur racer and failed racer, would die unknown and the same way he had lived: a ghost.
I stared at Kane. Kane, who had gone from a ghost to a champion, a rookie to a king. Who had sold his life for the chance to race, who was putting it down now just to hold onto it. Kitae to Kane. Somebody's somebody.
I'd been long afraid of Mercy, my father, my brother, the world. It was second nature by now. For all of my life, I didn't know another way to survive if it wasn't out of fear. To trust, to want, were so undeserved, they were practically sins.
But for the first time in my life, they felt more like survival, like living, than fear had ever felt.
"I can't tell you everything," I admitted slowly.
"I don't want to trade truths with you," he said. "So, don't—"
"It's not trading," I urged. "I want to." I let my hands rest in my lap, the bandages glowing pale white in the light. "You're right, about the secrets. About being a secret. It's not fair, what I said to you at the Eval, about trusting me even if I never really trusted you. I can't ask that of you. I...won't ask that of you."
Kane stared at me. His gaze was like a pressure gage, the dial turning up with every passing second. Like he was urging, betting, me to say something honest.
"The work I do for my family," I said, "is this. It's things like this. My life depends on whether I do it or not. The only reason I'm here is because of it. The only reason I can stay here at all is because of it." I had to push the base of my palm into my heart just to stem the rapid beating. I closed my eyes. "I could never really explain because your family has connections to mine, and I didn't want to put either of us on the radar. You're already at fragile standing with them, and..." I trailed off, my stomach clenching. "I didn't want you to hate me."
Kane said, "Hate you?"
"For everything I did just to keep my own head safe," I sighed. "All the work I do, I figured if you knew even some of it, you'd never want to see me again. All of you. I knew it'd come eventually, I couldn't lie to you all forever, but I was just selfish enough to try and hold it off for as long as I could." I took in a shaky breath. "I didn't think it'd kill me so much. The thought of you hating me."
But it did, like a stake in my lungs, a hundred bullets in my spine. I thought I'd greet Hell on the backs of cut-open corpses or behind the muzzle of a gun. Hell like fire. Hell like death. It hadn't occurred to me some sins had a heartbeat.
"Then," Kane said carefully, "why risk me?"
I considered that. "I don't know," I murmured. "I rather you hate me honest than like me lying."
"No," he said. "Why risk me?"
I lifted my head and stared at him. He stared right back, unafraid, his hand up to his chest. Why risk me; why risk you, for me.
I wanted to ask him the same thing.
I searched for the words in my depleting supply, tried to translate the past nine months out into something I could say in front of him. Tried to say it to myself, too.
"You hurt my heart," I said carefully. I pushed the base of my palm into my chest, felt the ache pulse. "I've never had that problem before." My smile was sad, shaken, but true. "I figured, it was worth the risk."
I let my words sit there, infesting the air, draping themselves on the table and couch. I stared at my bandaged hands, the blood dry under my fingernails, my culprit gun and knife likely stored somewhere out of sight, either for their sakes or mine. I blinked, and felt something wet hit my cheeks. When I wiped my finger across it, I came back with a tear.
My head hung uselessly, and I didn't even bother trying to wipe the rest away as they fell over my knees and hands. I had the thought to stop it, but I figured there was no point. So I let them fall like quiet rain in the dead of the September night.
A hand closed around my shoulder. I blinked away the salt in my eyes, just as it pulled me into a body.
Kane wrapped his arms around me like a shield. He didn't hug me the way Corvus did, tentatively, like they were scared to make the wounds hurt worse. Kane held me like he could stitch each one away, just by willpower. Like he was trying to find me underneath them all.
"Thank you," he said. "For telling me."
He brushed his fingers through my hair. The heat from his skin was enough to pierce into my bones. I squeezed my eyes shut, the tides of time and secrets washing over me in a never-ending wave.
I held onto him for dear life.
"Don't thank me," I whispered.
The night passed over us like a fading ghost. Kane remained where he was, his hand gentle on my head, his heartbeat the only thing I let myself listen to. I let my hands cling to him until they ached, and even past that. The thought of leaving could've been enough to kill me. The feeling of staying was a guarantee. Hell's fire. Hell's hearth.
And if Kane was its match, I would gladly burn into a blazing oblivion.
(ty for reading! this is very heavy chapter, i'd say, and a bit chaotic, but hopefully not so much so it's difficult to read? thank you so very much for all the love and support. you guys are true motivation, and i'm forever thankful. the little star is happy to see you for the week!)