When I wake up, the room is dark.

                 I am panting, shivering. Am I in the hospital? Why is the body below my neck covered in a thin white sheet? 

                 For some reasons, my thoughts don't connect. I feel drunk―I feel out of control.

                 I struggle to open my mouth, to speak, but nothing comes out.

                 The last I remember is the colour of Veah's eyes. Pure lightning.

                 Are you sure you can keep me alive? It's a lot of work.

                 Not for me. Not if it's you. 

                 A girl quoted a classical play for me. If she were anyone else, I swear I would be in love at this point.

                 Now I am alone, and my hands are trembling in front of me―but I can't feel them. My fingers are numb as I lift the sheet from my body.

                 Maybe this is hell.

                 When I push back the sheets, there is metal jutting out from my legs. Metal, twisted through the bone.

                  I open my mouth to scream. Nothing comes out.

                  And Veah is suddenly there, her face carved in shadow. "Shh, it's going to be okay, Kaya."

                  She has a gun to my head.

                  "Don't watch," she whispers, 

                   I just have time to think, This isn't real. This is a nightmare, as she pulls the trigger.

                  I wake up again, and it is night.

                  And I know it's night, because Tokyo city is lit up with the brilliance of a thousand windows. Neon lights gild the buildings in vibrant colour, and the world―even through the glass, even from so high above―pulses with life, vitality. A disembodied heart, glowing from the inside in a million shades of pink and blue and gold and green.

                   I wonder how much electricity it takes to power a city like this.

                   When I try to sit up, my heart catches painfully against my chest. Where am I?  

                   It is a sleek room, with glossy floors and silvery curtains. But I'm alone―there is an IV in my wrist, blankets covering my body, and a glass wall to my left.

                   It was a dream. 

                   The memory of it comes back to me. My legs, impaled with shards of metal. Veah, holding the gun to my head.

                    It was a dream, and I'm awake now.

                    I press my fingertips against my chest. My heart is pounding against the skin, a drumbeat.

                     We're in Tokyo.

                     The last thing I remember, I was fainting―oh, my God, again―and there was a storm. But that was still in the U.S. How did she get us here?

                     Still, even as the mystery lingers, I yank out my IV. The sharp edge stings my inner wrist, and I must not have done it right, because blood pools.

                     The entire wall facing outside is a window.

                     This hospital is so modern, so advanced, compared to the one in Florida. Jesus. America really does have it backwards.

                     I remove the bedsheets, relieved to see my legs are whole and not impaled by metal. Then I slip out of bed, trying to get a better view of the window.

                     It might be a minute, or an hour. I don't know how long I've stood there, marveling at the colourful, twinkling landscape of Tokyo city, when I hear her voice.

                     "I'm sorry."

                     Well, that isn't what I expected.

                     I spin around, and Veah is standing at the door.

                     Where are the nurses?  I wonder. The doctors? 

                     "I shouldn't have kissed you," Veah says.

                     Every thought flies out of my head. And a hot, burning embarrassment clouds my cheeks. "Excuse me?"

                      Veah falters, taking a step forward.

                      "I shouldn't have kissed you. It was wrong. The Cai assassins are after me, and . . . I never meant to care about you."

                       I narrow my eyes. "Is this an apology for kissing me, or for caring about me?"

                       Veah's eyes shutter. Her face is cast in the glow of the city behind me. "Both," she whispers harshly. "This―you―it's my fault." 

                       I've never seen her so breathless. So raw.

                       I take another step forward.

                       "I seem to recall that I kissed you." 

                       "I let it happen."

                       "You didn't let anything happen!"

                       Her eyes flicker down. "I could have snapped your neck in twenty-five different ways. I never should have let it get this far. I'm sorry for that."

                        I move slightly closer. A dance―a lethal dance.

                        Hypothetically speaking, is it supposed to turn me on if the girl I like says she could have snapped my neck in twenty-five different ways?

                        "Do you regret it?" I ask.

                        This time, she closes the distance between us.

                        We are a breath apart. And still, a world away.

                        I am waiting for her answer. For the truth. For the blow that will probably make me cry later, because I'm sensitive as fuck.

                        What? I'm a Pisces.

                        "No," she finally breathes.

                        Everything inside of me narrows to that one word.

                        No. 

                        No, she doesn't regret it.

                        The heat inside of me boils. Am I on fire? That would be embarrassing. I don't think I could ever look Veah in the eyes again if I caught on fire in front of her.

                        She is still looking at me, so intensely I don't think my heart will ever recover. 

                        Because if a dangerous, armed Yakuza boss runaway can look at me like that―and quote Euripides for me―and save my life, a minimum of three times, like she's a knight in shining fucking armor―

                        I've never been in a relationship before. I don't know how this works.

                        Does she even like me?

                        Just because she doesn't regret kissing me doesn't mean she likes me.

                        But the way she looked at me, like holy hell, like heaven on earth, I think . . . I think . . . shit. Fuck. Shit. How am I supposed to not fall in love with her?

                        And right now, in the middle of the night, surrounded by the vibrant buzz of energy from the city beneath us, I can't help but look at her lips.

                        I know what she tastes like. And I really, really want cherries right now.

                        Her lips are so soft, so smooth, and the way she kissed me? I think I might be ruined for anyone else.

                        Kiss me again, I think.

                        Veah's brows pull together. "Kaya, I think you might still have some morphine in your system."

                        "What?"

                        "You just said something . . . I might not be hearing right."

                        "What did I say?"

                        "Kiss me again," she says.

                        I raise an eyebrow. "Finally," I say, and I crush her lips to mine. Sweet temptation, and the taste of cherries.

                        I don't think I could ever get enough of her.

                        Her lips move against mine, hungry, desperate. I dissolve into her, and her hands cup either side of my face.

                        When I feel like I might run out of air―fuck air, who needs oxygen anyways?―she pulls back slightly.

                        Her grey eyes are wide. Dark.

                        "You're beautiful," she whispers against my lips.

                        Did a hot Yakuza boss just call me beautiful? Hello? Anyone? Am I hearing this right?

                        "I―I―um." 

                        Good job, Kaya. I'm so glad you know the English language. I mean, what's the point of a fucking IQ of 162 if you can't even respond properly to a girl who tells you you're beautiful? 

                        At this point, I might as well just move to Tibet and become a Buddhist nun.

                       But―pretty girls, my common sense argues, very eloquently.

                       For once, my common sense has a valid argument. 

                       With a faint smirk, Veah pulls away from me. "I'll be right back," she tells me. "There are some things I need to handle. Wait for me, okay?"

                       "Okay," I whisper, and I watch her leave.

                       Once she is gone, I turn to the window again.

                       Tokyo city is beautiful. 

                       This is Veah's home, I think. This is where she grew up. Where she learned to become an assassin. This is the city she once ruled.

                       But why did she run away?

                       When I hear the door open again, I smile to myself. She's back. How does even that thought alone suddenly make me feel lighter?

                       "I hope you choke on Ramen noodles."

                       "I'm going to shove my chopsticks up your ass if you don't stop talking."

                        "What chopsticks? You mean, that thing you call a dick?"

                        I hear the sound of a male voice. Wincing. "Just so you know, I have an enormous penis."

                       "Is that what you tell all the girls you sleep with beforehand, or is that a lullaby you sing every night while you take your Viagra?"

                       "One of these days, I'm going to puncture one of your arterial veins and watch you bleed out."

                       "Why? So I can take the secret of your itty-bitty dick to the grave?"

                       "I should have killed you when I had the chance."

                       "Come a little closer and try." It's a female voice, but it's not Veah.

                       I turn around. It is a boy and a girl.

                       The boy is tall, probably over six feet, with pale skin and black hair and full, rose-coloured lips. He is classically beautiful, and the first thing he says to me is, "My name is Ren. It's nice to meet you."

                        The girl grins impishly at me. "I'm Maiko, but you can call me Mai."

                        There's really just the small, tiny matter of . . .

                        "Who the fuck are you guys?"

                        Maybe these are my nurses? Although, honestly, neither of them are dressed that way. The boy has a dangling earring in one ear, and he is wearing fitted silk pants. The girl has a septum piercing and white streaks in her hair.

                        Like hell these are my doctors.

                        The girl tilts her head. "What, Veah didn't tell you about us?"

                         She elbows the boy. Ren. 

                         "Was she supposed to?" I ask hesitantly, but it appears neither of them are listening.

                         "What a fucker," Maiko―Mai―says. "She has some nerve, not telling people about her best friends. I mean, it's not like we're her favourite people in the world. I think we've bailed her out of prison like, seven times."

                          "We've never bailed her out of prison," Ren informs her. "That idiot just slaughters the police and breaks out herself."

                          Mai shrugs. "Semantics. We're her best friends."

                          I have to take a step back. Best friends? Veah never told me anything about these people. Maybe this is a trap. Maybe―

                          "Relax," Ren says, holding out his hands in a calming way. "We're not an ambush." He shoves Mai. "Look, you're scaring her."

                        "No, no, it's fine," I say breathlessly, backing up until I hit the glass.

                        "You're such a prick," Maiko tells Ren. "You terrified the poor girl. What did I say about casually threatening to murder people?"

                        "I'm sorry I'm a better assassin than you."

                        "If you were a better assassin than me, I'd be dead. And then who would you bicker with on a daily basis?"

                        "Well, since pretty much even a pigeon is more intellectually stimulating than you . . ."

                        "Fuck you. I hope you find a pigeon and fuck it, too."

                        "Bestiality? That's low, Mai. Even for you."

                        "Your tiny dick would probably fit perfectly inside it anyway."

                        "How many times do I have to tell you my dick isn't little? And that's offensive."

                        Mai crosses her arms. "Until you prove it to me, I'm just going to have to believe otherwise."

                        Somehow, I get the sense that she's flirting.

                        And maybe he is, too.

                        The girl pries her attention away from Ren. "Sorry about that," she tells me. "We're not an ambush, I promise. We know about Project Basilisk is . . . the Wyvern, the Drakon. I swear we're not here to murder you."

                       The dragon thing again.

                       "What about the Wyvern?" I ask, narrowing my eyes.

                       "You know, the meth lab in the church."

                       No, I definitely don't know. I blink at her. "The meth lab in the church?"

                       "It's where they're making the Wyvern," she says, and the glint in her eye fades. She is solemn now. "I've seen it with my own eyes. It's bad."

                       Ren is serious now, too. "It's the newest thing they've got. But it's different this time. They have a trade deal with Europe, and they're going to mass produce it."

                       What are they talking about?

                       I can't let on that I have no idea. It seems like they both think I'm already aware of everything.

                      "And the Drakon?" I ask.

                      "The firewall," Mai says. "In stories, you know how there's always some dragon in a cave, who's guarding the riches? Well, the Drakon is an online barrier. The strongest code in Asia―the world, maybe. And it's guarding the recipe to the Wyvern."

                      But what's the Wyvern? Cupcakes?

                      Why does it have a recipe, and . . . what's so secret about it?

                      Finally, Ren scans the room. "Where's Veah, anyway? I thought she was here with you."

                     "No," I say, wavering. "She said she'd be right back."

                     They both exchange a glance.

                     Honestly, I feel overwhelmed with all this information. Why didn't Veah tell me any of this? And why is there a meth lab in the church? But I can't ask what I really want to ask, because then they'll know I'm completely clueless.

                      I say, "How did I get to Tokyo?"

                      Ren grins. "She called me, and I chartered a plane to Orlando, Florida. I wanted to take a Disneyland stop, but I guess you're more important than me, because she got pissed."

                      Maiko sighs. "You were an idiot for asking her to go to Disneyland when her tokubetsuna mono was literally dying. Considering we're her best friends, you should know that when Veah gets pissed off, she has a tendency to murder anyone in a ten-mile radius."

                    "Dying?" I say.

                    "Dying?" Ren scoffs. "Disneyland is more important than that. Why would I give up the chance to see Mickey Mouse?"

                     Maiko aims a sharp strike to his shoulder, and Ren winces.

                     "Anyways, considering the way she looked at you, we figured you already knew everything," Maiko finishes. "I mean, she did pretty much make an enemy out of all of Tokyo city when she was sent for you."

                     "Sent for me?"

                     "Yeah," Mai continues, almost obliviously. "Both the So-Cai and Kogu-Ryu gangs had their eyes on you. Why do you think she was in Santa Monica in the first place? How do you think she found you?"

                      I am still trying to piece it together, to figure it out―

                      "I mean, Imai and the So-Cai gang were after you because they want the Wyvern. Once the Yakuza figured out someone had the potential to hack the Drakon, well . . . let's put it simply. They can't have that kind of loose end running around, especially with that stunt you pulled."

                       What is she talking about? What stunt?

                      "So they sent Veah," Mai says. "The So-Cai gang wanted to kidnap you, because you can hack the firewall for them. But the Kogu-Ryu gang wanted you dead."

                       I have a very, very bad feeling about this.

                       "Veah wasn't sent by the So-Cai gang, was she," I say flatly.

                       Which means―which means―

                       "All of Tokyo city is in an uproar," Mai says, grinning. "Half the city wants you kidnapped, and the other half wants you dead."

                       Blood is roaring in my ears.

                       "Which half are you guys on?" I ask.

                       Mai shrugs. "Neither. We're on Veah's side, always."

                       But doesn't this mean . . .

                       I can't think. Can't breathe.

                       "Veah," I begin. "She was . . ."

                       How do I finish that?

                       How do I make sense of that?

                       The pretty girl who kissed you, who quoted classical literature for you . . .

                       "She was sent to kill you," Mai says, as though her entire world isn't shattering. "Didn't you know?"

                        And as if the devil summoned her, Veah appears at the door holding a cinnamon bun.

>>>

That was fun.

What do you think the Wyvern is? Any theories?

From the moon and back,
Sarai