Exchange. An exchange. 

                  "It's not happening," Veah growls.

                  "Of course not," Tommy says hurriedly. "But they . . . they have―it's Emilie."

                  Dazed, I say, "But she was just at our table."

                  The blonde bitch with the corkscrew curls and the piercing blue eyes. The dark, smudged eyeliner and the sneer. Emilie―they have Emilie as a hostage, and they want me. 

                  "You're not going," Veah says, utter fury lacing her words. Her jaw tenses, forming a sharp line, and she glares at me with those piercing, smoke-grey eyes.

                  Fire. Fire and smoke and bright, devouring resolution.

                  Tommy glances between us, almost nervously―as though he is dreading something. As though there is still more he has to say.

                 Without tearing my eyes away from Veah, I tell Tommy, "Spit it out."

                 "They . . . they have Kiara and Lacy."

                 "Hunter and Jude's daughters?" Veah says, and now there is something like . . . fear in her voice. 

                 I think of Hunter's mismatched blue eyes. The casual, powerful way she commands herself. 

                 And Jude―that wild, ferocious glint. 

                 I might be in shock. "We have to do something."

                "We have to get you away from here," Veah says darkly, rising to her feet and holding out her hand.

                I don't take it. I say, "Cassie, what about my―"

                "They have her too," Tommy says, like this is the thing he has been dreading saying all along. 

                I think I faint.

                "Once upon a time, there was a girl in a castle."

                Cassie giggles. "It was a tower." 

                She is six. I am eleven.

                I frown. "Right. A tower. So, anyways, this girl was in the tower and she was, like, pretty upset. 'Cause, you know, how would you feel if you had to be locked up in a rusty old tower your whole life because of some evil witch woman?"

                "I'd be pretty upset," Cassie says wisely.

                We are sitting opposite each other, cross-legged on the floor of our closet. Clothes and dresses and too-small skirts are hanging from the rack above us, swishing over our heads. The thin walls rattle, ever so slightly, and I hear their shouting from downstairs.

               "Why have you been coming home so late this week?"

                "It's none of your fucking business, lady!"

                "That's right."  My mother is in tears. She's always crying, and I don't know why. "I'm only your wife. Why tell me anything?"

                My stepdad sneers. "It's always the fucking guilt trip with you, Crystal." 

                I try not to let the pause linger too long. I know Cassie is listening too, because her pale eyes widen, and her lower lip trembles.

               "So one day, this girl goes―oh, and her name is Rapunzel by the way, like some vegetable―and she goes, I'm going to sneak out with a hot guy I just slapped with a frying pan." 

               "That's the movie,"  Cassie says. "You know, Tangled?"

               "Oh, right. Silly me. Okay, in the actual story, this girl is singing randomly because her mother is always gone. And this prince is lost, wandering in the forest―a very handsome prince, by the way, named Flynn Rider―"

               "That's still the movie."

               "Okay, his name is Kerkylas of Andros. And he's some super handsome prince who hears her singing. He falls head over heels, he climbs up to her window, he's like, Damn, Rapunzel, let down your hair! So, Rapunzel is a lady, right? She has manners. She's like, Nah." 

               Cassie giggles. "Rapunzel didn't say Nah."

               "No, she totally said Nah, I was there. So the prince is like, Okay. 'Cause, you know, he respects consent and the girl said no. So he goes home and she never sees him again."

               "Kaya," Cassie moans. "That is not how it goes."

               "Sure it is," I say easily. "But I'm not done yet. So Rapunzel says no, the prince is respectful of consent, and she decides she's gonna save herself." 

               "The princess saves herself in this one?"

               "All princesses save themselves," I say fiercely. "Rapunzel is totally cool. She cuts her hair, uses it to strangle the horrible witch, and she goes free to sing to her heart's content by the seaside all day."

               "Are you sure that's how it goes?"

               The shouting fades for just a moment, and I think to myself, Who needs a prince anyway? 

               I am eleven, and I think I might want a princess instead.

               "Positive," I say.

               "Kaya,"  she giggles.

               "Cassie," I say in the same tone, tickling her. She is so tiny, so bright-eyed. "Want to hear the next one? It's about a girl with a glass slipper and an army of vermin."

                "They have my daughters!" Jude shouts, slamming her fist on the table. I almost jump at the sheer force in her words. 

               I'm still recovering from the humiliation of fainting. 

               It was only for five minutes―but still. And in front of―

              It doesn't matter who it was in front of, I tell myself. 

              Hunter, Jude, Veah and a few other people I don't recognize are gathered around a table on the bottom floor. The lights here are dimmer, and Veah's body angles slightly towards me. 

              I don't miss the way some of the others are looking at me. Desperate.

              And I know, no matter what Hunter and Jude say, I am not safe.

              One man in particular is staring, like he doesn't care if I see. His eyes are hard, and I heard Hunter call him Derek.

              "They have our daughters," Hunter agrees. "But if we act irrationally now, they won't hesitate to kill everyone up there."

              "Give them what they want," the man named Derek says roughly.

              His eyes find mine. A dark glare.

              I see a few other people nodding.

              Veah stiffens, and the air becomes hotter. Palpable with tension. Somehow, without even a word, I know she will not let anyone hurt me. 

              I don't say anything. I can't.

             They have my sister.

             They have Cassie. I brought her here. I brought her into this.

             I push myself to my feet. It takes every ounce of courage I have to stand in front of a table of armed, trained Mafia killers. 

             Almost immediately, the attention around the table flickers to me.

            Tommy shoots me a warning look, shaking his head fiercely.

            I ignore him. I say, "I have a plan."

            And it goes like this.

            "Are you sure I can't talk you of this?" Tommy asks. "Because, even for you, this is an all-time record of stupidity."

             "Thank goodness," I say. "What was my previous record?"

             "That time you thought it would be a good idea to teach an advanced economics class to a fourth-year class."

             "What? The professor told me to."

             "You were correcting him! He said if you were such a Miss Know-It-All, you should teach the course yourself. He didn't think you would actually accept." 

              "His mistake," I say, shrugging. "Where's―" I hesitate. "Where's Veah?"

              "I don't know," Tommy says. "After you proposed your plan, she walked out. Didn't say a word. Haven't seen her in maybe an hour."

               "Oh," is all I can say.

               "Come on," Tommy says, holding a hand out to me, helping me climb out of the stairwell into the fresh air of the aboveground.

                I feel for the small black device in my pocket.

                "They're waiting across the street," Tommy says grimly. "Abandoned warehouse. As soon as you go in, use this phone to call them and then crack it. They'll show themselves to you and you'll―"

                "Tommy," I say gently. "I know what to do."

                He places his hands on my shoulders, suddenly fierce. "Kaya, if you don't want to, we'll find another way, I swear. This is dangerous. You―"

                "My sister,"  I say softly. "My sister is in there."

                Tommy pulls away reluctantly. "I knew you'd say that, but . . . good luck. I have your back. I'll be right here if I hear even a single shot."

                But we both know a single shot is enough. It might be too late by then.

                "Thanks," I say, punching him lightly on the shoulder. "And, Tommy? You owe me another cinnamon bun."

                "For what?" he says, grinning.

                "I fainted!"

                "How is that my fault?"

                "It's not," I groan. "But you need to tell me what happened. How embarrassing was it? A scale of one to ten. Be honest."

                Tommy shifts his eyes away. "One to ten? I don't know, Kaya, maybe it'd be better for your confidence if you didn't know."

                I'll definitely regret this later. "Come on, tell me, I can handle it."

                "Well, Tanaka got really . . . protective. I wanted to pick you up, but she didn't even let me. She was practically growling at me, but the instant she picked you up . . . bridal-style, did I mention bridal style? Her eyes got really soft and misty . . ."

                Something in my chest twinges. A chord of my heart. Is my face hot? I hope my face isn't hot. "Are you kidding?"

                Tommy grins. "Yes, but now I know you like her."

                I punch him―and then wince at how hard his shoulder is.

                "That was awful," I hiss. "I can't believe you just did that!"

                "Yeah, but you like like her."

                "We're not in middle school! I don't like like anyone."

                "You should have seen the look on your face. All heart-eyed. Practically drooling already."

                "Okay," I snap, flushing. "That was really mean, Tommy. Two cinnamon buns. I can't believe you would lie about that."

                A smile twitches on his lips. "I wasn't lying about the growling―that is one scary girl you got there―and she did pick you up bridal-style, and she did soften just a little bit when she looked at you. Like she hates the rest of the world, but she has a soft spot for you." 

                I shake my head. "Whatever. I don't believe you anymore."

                "Come on, I'm not kidding this time!"

                "Still don't believe you!" I call back, as I finally step back into the sunlight. Turning around to cross the street.

                 A chill comes over me, even in the bright sunlight.

                 The abandoned warehouse opposite the Underground's cover is . . . dark. Empty. With broken glass windows and tall ceilings.

                  The phone in my hand shakes, but I dial the number Tommy told me.

                  The black device in my pocket becomes unbearably warm.

                  I have a gun tucked into my waistband.

                  I can do this.

                  For Cassie, I will do anything.

                 "I'm here," I say, my voice trembling despite my will. "I'm at the door."

                 "Come in," whispers a smooth, slippery voice on the other end. "We're waiting."

                 I'm so lucky, I think. The Yakuza are waiting for me.

                 Then I hear the dull echo of ringing: he hung up.

                  I crush the phone beneath my foot, and I step inside the warehouse to offer myself up in exchange for my sister.

>>>

Good God, this is going to be . . . well, it'll certainly be something.

I've probably, definitely, asked this before but I just have to say it again. Who's your favourite Disney princess? Mulan is 100% the best. Sorry.

From the moon and back,
Sarai