(EDITED)
(Note to readers: Some chapters ahead may not be in line with the new edits.)








- PART II -

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CH2O

Formaldehyde.

Organic compound. Colorless, odorous, flammable gas. Used in preservation of antiseptics, medicines, cosmetics, and corpses.

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Zoom out. Pan left. Turn a little. Zoom in. Adjust focus.

You see that kid over there? That scrawny, suited-up, short and miserable thing with more dye than a candy factory, right there. The one in black Brooks Brothers 1818 and hand-me-down Ferragamos—not his choice either, mind you. The one with the unlit cigarette and crooked tie that had either a wallet or a gun in his pocket—the answer is both. The one 10.5 million US dollars in debt, never doing the shit he's supposed to, who's the only Class III Stirling on the number one square racing team in the NCAA where said team is the exact place he's supposed to be, and yet, here he is instead? 

Yeah. That fucker.

That's me.

Looking pretty suave too, if I do say so myself. A suit and some shadows works well for me, don't you think? Equipped with the wire in my ear and the empty wallet but loaded 9mm in my pockets, hey.  The discord of my life has never looked so consolidated.

Mercy—no last name, as that was too personal for me to know—was the culprit. I suppose it wasn't enough to make me her getaway driver, her go-to body butcher, and her top punching bag for anything from poor nicknames to shitty wages, she had to drag my ass from one end of sweet home LA to the other to play party guard, too. What I could do as a guard without even breaching five feet, I didn't know. I figured I was there more as backup and secondary purpose. Mercy always had some sort of back-pocket agenda. It was likely what kept her from being part of anyone else's, and with it, put all of her gang, the Bengals, at the forefront instead. Fae were clever like that; it was why they didn't get along with the less-clever lycans. Point and case.

Why I was in the middle of a triple-story canine nightclub full of godless dogs and underworld ethanol is Mercy's doing, sure, but less her fault. That would rely more on me—I was particularly good at being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

But the nightclub. Things get convoluted quickly in my particular position. We'll start off easier.

Fang Flower was a luxury nightclub that provided downtown-alley level filth of entertainment in the form of uptown-hill level quality of experience. There were three floors, one for the dancers and drinkers, one for that but scantily clad, and one for the private shows or parties. The unfaithful, the ungrateful, and the unabashed flocked in droves of lycans, gumihos, werewolves, and bulgae, every single night without fail. From the glasses in their hands to the soles of their shoes, if you were a canine with money, a half-decent alcohol tolerance, and a taste for white collar trouble, well, Fang Flower was the place for you.

So, you can see why it wasn't the place for me.

"Oh, my God," a bulgae gasped, the flames around her face pulsing amber. "Who brought a child in here? What is wrong with people?"

I blinked. So much for the suit and shadows theory. Her friend dragged her away in another second, whisked into the neon crowd.

Dominic Rossi said, "It's nice to look young. Treasure that."

"Shut up, man." I leaned against the wall, narrowly avoiding my elbow colliding with the side of a man about ready to devour the woman he had shoved into the velvet cushion. "When is Mercy gonna be done upstairs? It's almost one AM."

"Said we'd know," D replied. He certainly didn't look unfit for the suit and gun, the shadows only emphasizing the tattoos snaking down his arms and hiding under his beard. D and the shadows were better friends, though. "Wait for a signal."

"Her signal is either a fire alarm or an H-bomb," I said.

"At least we'll know."
I took a breath. It was acrid and sour with sweat and vodka. D was Mercy's right-hand man, one of several who didn't really mind the whole "die or disappear" lifestyle—which was rather brave for a lycan. Not that D ever mentioned it. But D never mentioned anything you didn't speak of first.

A gumiho pressed up against my arm, flashing me a toothy smile, her long hair framing a red gaze with a redder tongue shooting out as she spoke. "Why, my, my, hello," she hissed. "Aren't you a colorful sight?"

I sighed. "I just work here, lady."

"Doesn't mean you can't have a good time," she sang, and leaned her sharp nose into my neck. I recoiled at it and shoved her off. She snickered, then grimaced. "Oh dear, just what kind of work are you doing?"

"What?"

She sniffed me again. Her grin was all fangs. The nine long ponytails swinging from her iron-thick hair reached up around her in a crown. When one brushed my arm, it left scratches in the fabric of the suit. "What sort of club guard smells like rotten guts then?"

D intervened before anything else could happen. He yanked me back by the collar of my blazer and put himself between the gumiho and me. He glared. "Enjoy the night," he told her. "Don't bother the people tryin' to keep all your asses in line."

She scoffed at that. "Mind my manners," she drawled, then lurched forward and plucked the cigarette from my fingers. She withdrew a lighter from her sparkling skirt and lit it up with an amber flame. She took one large breath, and inhaled it in a puff of gray. "The fae beckons for you." She smiled, and wiggled taloned fingers in my direction before disappearing back into the shifting crowds.

I brushed myself off with a furious vigor. D cocked a brow in my direction. "Gumiho only have a nose for their stomachs," he assured. "Just focus."

"Easy for you to say," I muttered. The shit I would've done just to be back in a warm bed. "Let's go."

We abandoned the dance floor, stepping over dropped purses or discarded wallets or spilled drinks. I shoved my way through rings of dancing girls, packs of roaring boys, the lonely drunks, the lonelier druggies. If that gumiho could smell death even through all of this, I had half a mind to start showering in bleach.

We made our way through the psychedelic haze and into the back hall stairs. We pushed aside half-naked couples and pairs and trios trying to swallow each other whole on the way. The music was transforming from raving bass to sultry echoes the closer we got to the top level.

The gun in my pocket became heavier as we inched closer.

We stopped in front of the only room with its door slightly ajar, the door plush velvet and blue. "What's she got planned for this shit again?" I said.

"Negotiations," D said with a shrug. "Guess she can't just kill and implode everyone in her way."

"Don't give her any encouragement."

We pushed the door open.

The room was wholeheartedly black. From the silk walls to the silk chairs to the glass bottles to the glass stage. I'd walked into the confines of a carbon atom, into the plumes of a crow. Only the dim white lamps hanging precariously in the corners and the blinking stage lights were available to provide any light for navigation.

Mercy sat in one couch, her arm draped across and sparkling with a column of bejeweled bangles. Her blue suit reflected the bare light back to the woman she was discussing with. Bengals were strewn across the room, watching quietly alongside the RIYU-associated, Boston-based Leopards. In between them, and providing quite the show on the stage, were several showgirls and boys in so little clothing, they might as well have been naked.

I sighed, rubbed my temples. Mercy's devotion to tearing down RIYU was not one I had any qualms with, but I had plenty time to develop some when she dragged me along into it. It might've been my father's creation, but I was a glorified ghost, and therefore should have no affiliation. I said so.

"Considering the fact I'm quite basically a glorified ghost. I really feel I should have no affiliation to this," I told D.

D shut the door tight behind us. "Are you a Bengal?"

"Oh, that can be such a complicated question, D."

He pushed me forward. "Sit down and shut up."

Mercy turned her eyes up. Her hair was white now, the ends a flaming jade, and her black-tipped fingers sank into the seat. "You're late," she sang.

"Sorry," we chorused.

She lifted her heel to tap a half-empty Hennessy bottle. "Sit down, boys. Have a drink! We're just chatting up a grand time."

D and I took a seat at the farther end, closer to the door. Stella sat in the opposing corner, a showgirl already draped against her shoulders, and a green-eyed Leopard sat between us. A young man not much older than me, wrapped up in leather and ribbons that left very little to the imagination, sauntered up and over, planting himself against me. He reeked of alcohol and sweat.

"Have a drink?" he offered with a sly grin. "You can loosen up."

"I don't drink," I muttered.

He ran a finger under my chin, and I grimaced. "You could loosen up in other ways, then." He leaned down.

I angled the gun under his chin, muzzle to his jawline. He went cold. I rubbed my eyes. "I could," I ground out. "Find a different lap, man."

The showboy slowly rose to his feet, and once out of reach from the gun, scurried away towards the others with a wicked sneer sent my way. I shoved the gun back into its place. The Leopards glanced at each other, although the Bengals looked relatively unperturbed.

Mercy smiled, amused. She slid her gaze to the Leopards' leader. "He doesn't like being pushed," she explained.

The Leopards' leader looked thoroughly unimpressed. "I'm not here for shenanigans. You've yet to make me an offer that's worth my time. You're trying to give me a spot in a war in exchange for our protection."

"I'm giving you a spot on the winning side. When RIYU falls, who do you think goes down with it? Janchi isn't going to look at your merits. Janchi is going to look at your associations. You'll be cut to pieces in days. See, see, see?"

"What do you think Byungho will do to me? You think I can just waltz out?"

"Byungho is too ill to notice and Elias is too self-involved to care," Mercy said, yanking my head to her. "You're not leaving. You're just...taking a break."

"Taking a break," she repeated.

"You're going independent for the summer. You're working Drachmann commission jobs. You're in loose association by history, but not by current standards. Gray areas are your friend. Oh, come on, you're a smart woman." Mercy swirled her finger from left to right. "You know how to play sheep until they need a wolf."

She leaned back in her seat. She gave a long huff.

A gumiho, surprisingly small, sank down from the stage and stalked in my direction, before ceremoniously draping herself over my entire lap. Her teeth were knives when she flashed them at me.

"Don't shoot," she squeaked. Her bare skin pressed up against my body, and for once, I was grateful for Mercy demanding full-coverage suits. "I'm just curious."

"For fuck's sake," I groaned.

"You already got your one strike, Ghost," Mercy called, not breaking eye-contact with the leader. "I suggest you tread quietly."

I took that with a sigh.

It seemed whatever Mercy was talking about was deceptively not for everyone in the room to hear, considering the showgirls and boys were starting to get more and more aggressive at getting both Leopards' and Bengals' attention the longer the two leaders talked. I was less inclined to be distracted by the skin though, and more inclined to listen closer at just what Mercy meant by ill.

"I won't protect you," the Leopards' leader said. "You want to help head this, you head it. I traded protection with you once and the Leopards have still yet to recover. For a creature that can't lie, you're a real snake, Mercy."

JJ cleared his throat—a second right-hand man, who either hated me more than words could announce or midlly enjoyed my existence. Both had equal chance of being completely true. He cast a cool look at Mercy, who shrugged. JJ said, "I thought you said I wouldn't have to get involved here."

"Who told you to?" she replied.

"Mercy."
The showboy on JJ's lap took a moment off chewing on his neck to cast a foolish frown at Mercy. Mercy raised a brow at JJ. The Leopards' leader scoffed.

"Your dogs seems rather at ease for such a 'dire' negotiation, as you put it," she sneered. "Just what strings are you trying to pull here, Mercy? Say what you mean, for once."

Mercy grinned wider. "I'll do with my dogs what I please." She giggled. "Let's wager, yeah?" She held up four pointed fingers. "Four million down payment. You go gray, pull your hands out of RIYU. Break off the deals with the Dragonflies, they will go crying to Janchi, who will put them in with Wang. Let the rest of the dominoes fall, yes?" She made a tip-toeing gesture. "Barely a scratch on you. Aren't I generous?"

The showgirl ran her hand up my neck, sank her fingers past my shirt. My lip curled, my insides roiling at the unwanted touch. Mercy had better wrap it up fast or bullets were gonna start flying whether she wanted it or not. The gumiho said in my ear, "You should relax."

I could have laughed.

The leader considered Mercy for a long, long moment. Then, she leaned over and held out a hand. "Fine," she said. "But I finish it with the Dragonflies. You ask me for anything more, you can have your four million and your damn deal back."

Mercy's laugh was victorious. She leaned over and took her hand delicately. "What do you take me for?" she said. "A liar?"

The girl undid a button on my shirt. She flicked her tongue out onto my ear. "Are you having fun?" she whispered.

Mercy slid her eyes towards me. I raised a brow. She flicked her hand in a dismissive gesture.

I grabbed the girl by the back of her hair and wrenched her head back from me. She yelped, scrambling so fast that her heel collided with my hip. I cursed violently.

JJ followed suit. He wrapped his hand around the boy's throat. The boy sank his nails into JJ's cheek, but was flung onto the table a second later with a ricocheting thud like he was a ragdoll. JJ grimaced at the blood drops on his face.

Stella shoved the girl off her less dramatically, just letting the drinks on the table spill over her lace getup. She pushed her way past the others, letting the Leopards get to their feet in some futile effort to help the showgirls and boys to their feet.

The girl on top of me turned and sank her teeth into my arm. I sank my knuckles into her throat and she went flying back into the
nearest seat.

The meeting was very decidedly over.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" I hissed, blood spurting from the wound without hesitation. I sighed down at my bloodied suit. "This isn't even mine."

Mercy seemed to take that note. She sprung to her feet along with the leader, who grabbed her by the wrist.

"Tell your fucking Bengals to—"

"To what?" Mercy threatened.

The leader paused. The Leopards stood, withdrawing anything from handguns to knives and turning on the nearest Bengal, as if to catch us off-guard.

At that, the Bengals all turned on the nearest Leopard, guns out, bullets loaded. I rested the mouth of mine on the shoulder of a Leopard, who snapped, "Watch it, shrimp."

"Shut up, man, I'm bleeding here, give me a break." I muttered. "Anyone got a spare tie?"

D undid his and threw it at me with one hand.

Mercy gave a heavy sigh. "Oh, Ghostie," she murmured. "You're such a handful sometimes."

"You're not gonna have a shootout right here," the Leopards' leader scoffed. "Who's making the deal with who here, Mercy?"

Mercy flashed her a razor-sharp smile. "Who's saving who here?" she retorted. "Your Leopards drew first. Don't you know a tiger only pounces when you start to move?"

"You've got an angle, and you're gonna tell me."

"Straight angle. Straight shot." Mercy leaned over, and poked her finger into her heart. "One gang has Byungho's ear. One has his foot. Care to wager which is which?"

She bristled. She stared at Mercy, likely weighing her chances on every front, although I couldn't bother to think of what considering the bite in my hand and Mercy's reveal in my head. I wound the tie around the bite, yanking it on tight with my teeth. The Leopard only looked mildly impressed.

"Shoot," Mercy said, her black and blue gaze descending to shadows, "and so will we." She held out her hand. "Do we have a deal?"

They stared. The room shook and rattled with the beat below our feet, the tension of a step towards the downfall of an empire. My room was spinning, likely from the blood loss.

The leader swiped her hand, and the Leopards' guns lowered. She took Mercy's hand with a bitter snarl.

"We have a deal," she said.

___________________

5:05 AM - Unknown Number
Merci sent you $55.00 for "Gumiho chomp"

5:11 AM - Unknown Number
Tout aboie et aucune morsure?

____________________

[Kane King - tl083109142023.ghost]
[View File - View Statistics - View Medicals]
[Medicals loading...]
[Select Country]
[Encryption loading...]
[Re-encrypting...]
[View G. DRACHMANN MEDICAL CENTER EMERGENCY ROOM (USA) - PATIENT KING]
[Medicals loading...]
[Select file version (1)]
[File loading...]
[Info error ENC. - Partial Restriction by thirdparty]

[ENC.GHOST opening...]
[TERMINATE Partial Restriction by thirdparty?]
[Please enter code]
[Please enter secondary code]
[Please enter name]
[Encryption Breakage - Encryption Blocked]
[WARNING : Encryption Breakage - Accept]
[Please enter code]
[Code invalid]
[Encryption loading...]
[Please enter code]
[Please enter secondary code]
[Partial Restriction - TEMPORARILY DISABLED - Firewall enabling...]

[Kane King - tl083109142023.ghost]
[View File - View Statistics - View Medicals]
[Medicals loading...]
[Select Country]
[Encryption loading...]
[Re-encrypting...]
[View G. DRACHMANN MEDICAL CENTER EMERGENCY ROOM (USA) - PATIENT KING]
[Medicals loading...]
[Select file version (3)]
[File loading...]

[Patient : Kane King - Year : RESTRICTED]
[Age : 19]
[Height : 72.5 inches]
[Weight : 119 lbs]
[Ethnicity : East Asian, Korean (South)]
[Blood Type : A]
[Date of Birth : 05/26]
[Species : CREATURE - Lycan]
[Subspecies : Alpha]

[Cause of Visit : Severe trauma injury, blood loss, stab wound, 2 bruised ribs, poison (silver)]
[Notes : patient sustained severe trauma to (right) back, (right) external obliques, left temple, silver shrapnel in injured area (back) causing poisoning, track spinal effects]
[Length of Visit : 28 hours]
[Care Plan : see doctor notes]
[Date of Visit : RESTRICTED]

[silver poisoning and its effects - t454404407.ghost]
[Long term effect of silver poisoning - s4043795323.ghost]

["Silver coloration to the hair, eyes, and wound area as well as surrounding veins is a common side effect of silver poisoning. Fever and chills can occur with worsening condition. Some patients report loss of vision, loss of taste, numbness in hands or feet, muscle pain, muscle dystrophy, and severe migraines or headaches. If you believe you have come into contact...]

[life expectancy silver poisoning lycans - t181219192023.ghost]
[kane king avaldi attack - t4876042016.ghost]
[kitae wang attacked -t20042024200.ghost]

[WARNING : FIREWALL ACTIVATING...]
[Encryption loading...]
[Re-encrypting...]
[ERROR - FILE NOT FOUND - ACCESS RESTRICTED BY third party]

I.GHOST - New message

'Merci' sent you a message. View it here.

I.GHOST - Merci

hey whoa whoa there
bypassing walls i see. ur curiosity is a little too catty
if u wanted to take a gander, you could have just asked! now ghostie, where's ur manners?
although i have to say, the disgraced-and-redeemed son of janchi is an interesting place to go poking around in
hey ghostie
don't tell me you've taking such a liking to someone like kane king
u go and do that

you might go and become someone too real to come back

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It was my first winter that I got sick.

My mother sat by windowsill, the snow falling in heavy droves and unforgiving gusts, the ground below coated in ice and powder, the rooftops dripping with frosty icicles at every edge. I lied against her in her lap, my hands fiddling with the fur coat she'd wrapped me up in, a gift from her mother and the only nice coat she owned. Her hands attempted to keep me warm as she relayed the story to me in the peace of a weak fire and a single candle lamp.

"You and your brother were born smaller, of course, twins always are," she said to me as I began to braid the edges of her hair. "But since you were an Omega, you were more fragile. Premature Omegas have almost no chance of survival.Especially considering you were born closer into winter. Not a good time to be born as an Omega, let alone a premature one."

She stroked my hair back from my ears and forehead. "They had to keep you at the hospital, but I didn't want to leave you all alone, and I made your father allow me to stay with you until they could assure you'd survive. You were this big. Like a little goguma." She cupped her hands out in front of her. "I remember everyone saying you'd never make it."

I turned around to face her. "But, Umma, I'm right here."

"Ya, don't interrupt your mother." She cleared her throat, reaching to correct the furs around my body. "After a week, they almost cleared you to go home, but then you got sick. Nothing major for a regular baby, just a tiny sniffle. But for you, they said it might be the end." My mother put a hand on her heart, pushing her palm into her chest. "I cried the whole night, because I thought I'd hoped so much, all in vain."

The snow howled. The snow whispered.

"You were in the hospital for two whole months. Hooked up to all these machines and monitors," she said with a heavy sigh. "They said it, too. All in vain. Geunde, if you were going to go, I had to be there with you. I had to hope a little more." She held up a finger. "You know, Echo. Hope and fear are not the same, but they are inextricable."

"What's the difference?"

"You hope for something to find you. You fear something will," she said. "And you can never have one, without having at least a little bit of the other." She smiled. "Your children are more for hope."

"How?"

"Well, in a week, your sniffle went away, your breathing improved, you passed all the basic tests, and just like that, I brought you home to be a plain, normal goguma. As if nothing had ever happened, as if you'd always been like that." She patted my head with a grin. "Right when winter was beginning to end, too. You and I, Echo. We have good timing like that."

I smiled brightly and giggled. "I'm like a miracle baby, yeah?"

She hummed, then shook her head. "Ani. Not 'miracle'." She pulled me back into her lap, her smile fading as she stared out the window. "After the next year, Echo, things are going to change very much for you. Things are going to become very difficult, and at times, seem very impossible. But you can't let it beat you."

She clasped my hands with hers. "You have survived, despite what everyone and everything has determined. You have always found a way to survive. You have always found a way to win, even in a world that does not want you to," she said.

I blinked, shaking my head. "You make it sound scary."

My mother brushed her thumbs over my temples. "You're always going to be afraid of something, and so you're always going to hope for something. So you have to make a choice on whether you will fear it more than you will hope for it," she whispered. "Don't fear something more than you want it, Echo. Fear will kill you faster than hope ever will." She held my face firmly. "Okay?"

I gazed up at her. At the time, in my seven year old brain, the concept was far too large and far too weighted to register fully. But the memory stood before me now, four-dimensional, saturated with time. She'd known me before even I did. She'd known, and she'd known she wouldn't be around long enough to tell it to me twice.

A part of me wondered if my mother had always understood she wouldn't be able to be there to tell me when I needed it. As if her life had also been heading towards an imminent end, and the most she could do was prepare me to handle it when she greeted it face to face.

My mother was right. I'd survived against odds from the very start. I'd survived by the skin of my teeth at every turn. I'd survived on end, at length, to point of exhaustion.

But frankly, fuck the surviving part; for once in my life, I wanted to win.

Or die trying.

_________________

Corvus was Avaldi University's champion square racing team that was not only number one in the state, but all of NCAA Division I, with more victory money under their belts than there were flies in a horse ranch and more trophies to their names than there were werewolves at an all-you-can-eat barbecue. The group was as viciously accomplished as they were intolerably crass, and as devoutly isolationist as they were unbearably rowdy, their loyalties thicker than iron but imperceptible under their constant internal animosity.  It made for a rather interesting team to witness and be a witness for. Ask me how I know that.

"And, how do you know that?" the nurse had asked me.

I blinked. "Know...that they don't know?" She nodded. I raised a brow. "How much of a report do you wanna write down?"

The nurse had considered me, then clicked her pen off and peeled the papers back from her clipboard. "We'll talk to your nurse. He has no designated guardians, so she is our only other official contact besides your coach. And you are...? A friend? Teammate?"

"Something like that," I sighed.

Kane's sudden collapse was met with as much chaos as you can imagine. I'd gone scrambling for the phone at the same time I was trying to get him upright to keep whatever bloody substance was coming up from his throat from choking him. Kenzo had overheard the commotion at some point.

"Kane," I tried, my hands slick with black and blood. I held my phone in my other hand. "Kane, wake up, Kane."

"Echo."

I turned around. Kenzo stood at the doorway, his eyes wide as he stared at Kane, limp against the bedside and breathing shallowly through the viscous liquid. He'd cleared the room in two strides, and grabbed my shoulder to wrench me away from Kane.

"Call 911," he said. "Tell them no sirens and we'll meet them at the back door entrance."

Corvus had woken up within record time at the sounds of my frantic knocking and the sight of Kane hanging limp against Kenzo's body. The girls had come running out as Zahir and Diego carried him down.

"What happened?" they all kept asking. "What's wrong with him? What's wrong with King?"

I couldn't answer. I'd said, "We need to call Coach and Ramos."

Kenzo had shoved me into the back of the paramedics along with Kane, who had been laid across a stretcher and hurried into the vehicle before any curious eyes could get a good look. The rest of Corvus stayed behind the car or inside the Talon's walls for fear someone passing by would think to take a photo, or worse, ask a question. I'd whirled on Meredith, who pushed Kenzo in with me.

"I can't go with," I tried. "Meredith—"

"We'll meet you there," she said, and the doors slammed shut.

A paramedic sat above Kane, examining him and the substance. His breathing was thin under the oxygen mask, the screen of vitals shrouded by chattering medics. He'd leaned over to say to me, "Has he come into contact with any silver?"

It was enough to render the entire ambulance silent. I stared. Kenzo waited.

"Yes," I said.

The hospital was a nightmare, a mess of locked doors and rushing doctors and too many words that led back to blood and poison and how the two never went together very well. I sat outside the room with Corvus pacing the tiles to dust, shouting amongst each other in some desperate attempts to make sense of the little we'd gotten.

"I thought it was over," Rosalie breathed. "He'd said it was scarring. He said it was over."

"How long has it been like this?" Meredith said. "How long until it gets worse?"

"He said it was over," Diego ground out. "Why the fuck would he tell us it's over when—when he looks like that?"

Ramos arrived with Coach at her heels. She spotted me. She said, "What happened?"

I glanced at Corvus, at the door where Kane lay inside. I'd said, "Bad timing."

The doctor had come out soon enough, with her nurse at her side. She said something or other. All that mattered to Corvus was the "silver poisoning" part that came through. The uproar was immediate as it was deserved, but in between it, was a sort of dread that could only be known by a team that was highly unaccustomed to losing. And that meant losing truths, too.

"He said it was over," Zahir whispered into his hands, hours upon hours later when Kane was cleared to return home. "Oh, God. Oh, God, how is it not over? What the hell are we supposed to do? What is he supposed to do? Oh, God." He shook his head. "What's going to happen to him?"

Ramos said, "Let's go home."

Kane had come out of the hospital without much coherence, his eyes glazed and his skin feverish, his responses non-existent and the scent of silver wafting from his skin. He'd fallen asleep almost immediately upon sinking into the passenger seat. It didn't take much effort to let him sleep, considering no one had much to say anyway on the car ride back.

Everyone disbursed back to their rooms, and things refused to return to normal until the next day when the medicine had worn off of Kane's system and the shock had turned into questions in Corvus.  The talking truly ensued when we entered Kane's room as Ramos had some things to go over, and Rosalie had quite some things to say, and Kane, as it turned out, seemed to acquire quite the attitude issue when he was sick and delusional. That and his room.

"Holy mother of sweet Jesus Christ," I said as the door swung open. "Did someone fucking rob you?"

"For fuck's sake, King," Rosalie snapped. "I thought I told you to clean this shit."

Kane had flopped onto the bed. "Clean what?"

For the number one racer in the NCAA with a talent for neurotic fits and a memory that could rival a youthful elephant, you would assume Kane's room would be a reflection of his propensity to order, everything with a place and in said place and artfully placed at that. You'd be wrong.

I had never once encountered such a mess of a room in my life, and you can quote me on it.

Kane's room was only slightly bigger than mine, but it felt twice as small. Everything from posters to postcards to pictures were pasted from the floor to the ceiling of the walls, only making room for a full-body mirror and the rest of the furniture. Two desks were pushed together to create one long one across from where his bed was, everything from books to trinkets to a dozen pens to two dozen pencils to racing gear that'd seen better days to an overheated computer that was currently seeing such days.

Only one wall had been saved from the collage of memories and collectibles. A large shelf, the neatest thing in the room—which wasn't saying much—displayed trophies, medals, plaques, and accolades, all for the world to see. Beside it, his bed had dark blue covers swaddling a hurricane of gray pillows into a whirlpool across the sheets. His dresser wasn't much prettier, half a dozen of the drawers left open and a surface covered in silver jewelry, empty water bottles, and half-full cologne samples. A nightstand boasted a small lamp and a glass dish piled high with cigarette butts. Filling any other available space of the room's floor were discarded shirts, jackets, hoodies, and shoes.

Shoes, and shoes, and shoes. Everything from boots to sneakers to slides, black to white and pink to green, silver and gold, platforms and low-tops, laces, straps, buckles, zippers, if you'd seen it once elsewhere, you saw it there now. Even the rack in the corner that tried to organize the mess failed miserably under the piles of shoes, shoes, shoes.

And it was, needless to say, a damn mess.

"Hey, man, hate to break it to you," I said, gaping at a half-empty box of Cheerios beside his bed. "But I think a goddamn typhoon hit your room."

"You're a goddamn typhoon," he muttered.

"Did you just throw this on the floor?" Wynter gasped, plucking a jacket up from the floor. "Are you crazy?"

"A fucking psycho," he replied. "Get out of my room."

Which all brings us to where we are now:

Ramos said, "My instructions were very clear. Were they not?"

Kane refused to open his eyes. "They were," he sighed.

"So, why?"

Kane turned his head away from her. "Because I wanted to."

Ramos performed a minor debate between throwing the thermometer at his head and running right out of the room. When she finally composed herself, she held up a hand, rubbing at her temples. "You know what? I don't want to even get into it. For Kane's sake, even if he has no appreciation for my efforts."

"You're doing great," Kane deadpanned.

Ramos took a deep breath. Rosalie said, "If you weren't sick, I'd slap you."

"Do it," Kane snapped.

"I forgot how terrible of a person you can be when you're sick," she hissed at him.

"I forgot how terrible of a voice you have at any time ever at all," he retorted.

Rosalie threw her hands up just as Zahir pulled her back. "I can't even be both stressed, worried, sad, and annoyed in peace in this room!" She buried her face in her hands. "King, I love you and you suck."

"I do," he muttered, and Diego choked on a laugh.

Ramos shook her head. "I need a raise." Ramos sat beside Kane on the bed, pushing his shoulder. "Come on, when we left you still had a fever. I have to take your temperature."

"I'm not sick," he insisted.

"That's very nice. Turn over."

"Why do you hate me?"

Ramos waited. Kane sighed, then turned over.

Rosalie shook her head, smoke practically fuming out of her ears and nose. Corvus was decidedly quiet as we waited for the time bomb to go off on someone. Mercy's job had left my body sore and my arm out of shape, the remnants only visible in the bloody bandage around the gumiho bite hidden under my long-sleeve. I could only hope that the time bomb wouldn't start with me and Kane's dysfunctional state was enough of a distraction. That, and I had the feeling Corvus wouldn't take my knowing of his state very well, either. 

Surprisingly enough, itwas Zahir.

"Why did you lie to us?" He stood over Kane, his brows pinched and his face pained, each word slicing the air. "How could you lie to us? About this, of all things."

Rosalie stared at Kane, but she said, "You knew there was still poison acting."

I stiffened. I pursed my lips, about to speak, but I was quickly interrupted.

Ramos looked at Rosalie. "Kane didn't want you all to worry," she said. "He told me not to tell. I respect his wishes first."

The look on Rosalie's face was all heat, and yet none at all. "Not if it concerns his life," Rosalie exclaimed. "You're not supposed to put our secrets before our safety."

The guilt that struck Ramos's face was heavy, osmium and bricks and as genuine as was her words. She spoke as if just the act itself made her throat sting. "All of your medical information is confidential until you tell me otherwise. It was not mine to tell, and still isn't."

"Ramos," she breathed.

"How did he even get it in the first place?" Wynter muttered, earning a shake of the head from Zoe.

"How long has it been?" she added.

"Too long," Diego said, glaring down at the floor. "You said it was scarring. You said it was over." He gestured weakly at Kane, and turned his glower on him. "Is this 'over' to you?"

"It wasn't the time," Kane said.

"So you lied to us instead."

"It's fine."

Kenzo stared. "It's your life."

Everyone fell silent. Ramos let the thermometer rest in his mouth before it beeped. She frowned. "103.4," she sighed.

Kane groaned. "That's barely a fever."

"That's three degrees a fever, thank you," she snapped. "Who has the medical degree here?"

Kane didn't reply. Ramos pretended he did and hummed, turning on her heel to wade through the ungodly mess. The door opened, Edwards stepping inside, but not before giving a quick, "Did a typhoon hit your damn room?"

"We already used that joke," he muttered.

"I see he's doing well," Coach said with a sharp look.

"Did you know about this?" Diego asked her.

Coach pursed her lips. Corvus crumbled a little more. Diego cursed under his breath, running his hands through his hair, shaking his head as he gave Zahir a look only Zahir seemed to understand that sent him sitting on the floor and closing his eyes. 

Rosalie gaped at Edwards. "You're kidding," she breathed, narrowing her eyes. "You're both kidding. He's fucking dying, and you let him race?"

"I'm not," he said.

"Shut up. The healthy, living people are talking."

"It wasn't mine to tell," Coach said. "He was adamant."

"He's twenty one and has a knack for abandoning all self-preservation on a track, she snapped. "He cannot make that decision rationally."

"Racers aren't known for their rationale," I said.

Kenzo snapped his head to me and narrowed his eyes. "You knew."

Two words sent every pair of eyes my way. The bite in my arm burned a little fiercer. Everyone waited in the stiffening silence.

Zahir looked up at me. He stood. "Did you?" he asked quietly.

I glanced between Kane, Ramos, Corvus, and Coach. I knew, in some way, that was the answer in itself. Still, I had the gall to weigh my odds. 

"I had a hunch," I told them.

Rosalie threw her head back with a mirthless laugh. "A hunch," she repeated, incredulous. "About silver poisoning. How'd you get there?"

"His...eyes—"

"His eyes?  So you knew about that, too? For how long?" At my silence, she nodded to herself, throwing her hands up as heat bloomed in her cheeks. Her eyes blazed, a smoke curl of purple in her iris. Her French was violent. "You trust your rookie with your dying breath, your eyes are only getting worse, and you lied to every single one of us about it? Who are we?"

"Enough," Kane breathed.

"You knew what happened to Poppy," she bit out. "You knew and you still lied, but you went to tell him because, what? You only told the people you knew would keep that secret? You knew he wouldn't say a word about you, he won't even say a word about himself."

"Poppy has nothing to do with this."

"Poppy has everything to do with this!" she snapped. "You think this is how you're gonna feel better? By letting yourself die?"

Kane hauled himself as upright as possible onto his good arm to look at Rosalie. His eyes were blacker than black, and the look he gave her was less of anger and more of agony, a physical strain and an emotional distress and a bone-deep mourning.

"Stop, Rosalie," he said in English, his voice hoarse. "Just stop."

Rosalie tightened her fists at her side. "Kane."

Meredith pushed herself off the wall and wrapped a hand around Rosalie's wrist. She pulled her back, and shook her head. 

"That's enough," she said. "For everyone."

The silence returned tenfold. Kane sunk back into the bed, closing his eyes. Shadows engulfed him. Ramos stared at him, face unreadable. 

Coach watched us all for a few moments before she said, "King, you're banned from the track until you're perfectly better or better than. Ramos will keep an eye on you, along with these guys. You all, in the living room, go on, it's crowded enough in here."

Kane's eyes shot open. "What?" he said, sitting up. "You can't. I can't miss a match."

"This isn't a democracy," Edwards snapped. "You're out."

Ramos said, "You're out."

"You can't," he pressed. "I can race."

"If you can race, I'll eat my shoe," she said. "That's to say you can't."

"Please," he tried. 

"You're out," she said again. She gestured at the door. "Let's go. He needs to rest."

Ramos pushed Kane back onto the bed, murmuring something to him that had his face going terribly sour. He turned away from us. I shut the door in our wake.

Zahir and Diego sat on the couch, leaning against each other, while Rosalie paced around the coffee table as Meredith sat with Zoe and Wynter on the ground. Kenzo and I stood away from them, watching, as Coach faced us.

"I know you're all mad," she said once the door was closed. "And worried and stressed and all that great stuff, which I'm not gonna try and talk you out of, because that's your right."

"Why would you keep this from us?" Zahir asked. "He needs help. He needed the time."

Coach looked stricken at that. She folded her hands in front of her with a shaking sigh. "I know I wasn't transparent. But, King was very adamant about us not saying anything, at least for this season. He wanted to end this season and then tell you. I think he thought the side effects wouldn't be severe until then."

"Why this season?" Zoe asked. "How long has this been happening?"

She pursed her lips. "A little while. I'm sorry to all three of you. I know you were in the dark the most about this," she said. "Ramos has urged him towards the 607, but he's refused. King wanted to find and train subs, especially his own, before he said anything."

It didn't take a genius to figure out just what that meant, although I wish it did, since what it entailed was enough to make my stomach plummet to the very core of the earth.

Everything went wintry cold. Diego buried his face in his hands. "Ese estúpido estúpido capitán," he sighed, his laugh sad. "He's taking the whole win or die thing a bit too seriously, no?"

"He's replacing himself?" I asked. Everyone looked to me. I said, "Kane is trading his place on the team with a sub?"

Coach hesitated. Corvus descended into chaos.

"Hell no, hell no," Rosalie snapped, springing for the door. "Kane King, you fucking coward, I will end you before the silver can!"

Zahir grasped her around the waist and hauled her away as she continued yelling. Diego looked to be in the midst of a crisis.

"He can't step down," he said. "It's King. What the hell do you mean 'step down'?"

"You're not serious," Wynter said, gaping. "This was the reason you recruited new people?" 

"He came up to you and told you that he'd rather race until he dies and he'll need a 2.0 to hold up the line, and you just went along with it?" Rosalie snapped at Coach.

"No one is a 2.0," Coach said. 

"Then why is he here?" Rosalie pressed, pointing at me. "Corvus would never have recruited a Stirling. Did you do it just to double the press time and give him the chance to slip away?"

"Rosalie," Meredith said.

Edwards blinked. She straightened, taking a step towards Rosalie. "I understand you're angry with me, with King," she said carefully, "but don't paint me to be so undercutting of a coach that I would rather sell a team than protect it. I cannot force King to do anything he doesn't want to do, morally or legally. He declined the 607, he asked me to race, and he told me he wanted a new line. I'm sorry that we didn't tell you all." She looked at all of Corvus at that. "But that, ultimately, is not my decision to make. This is between you and King."

She turned to leave. Rosalie said, "Who changed the system?" When Coach frowned, she explained, "You've only ever hand-picked recruits. So who opted for the open tryout?"

Coach's face softened. "Poppy," she said, and Rosalie winced. "She figured some rookies could use the chance instead."

No one said anything more. Coach sighed. "We've got to keep a close eye on him, he didn't want to stay in the hospital so we've got to do some monitoring. Let me or Ramos know if anything, and I mean anything, happens. Got it? Say 'got it'."

"We got it, Coach," Diego told her. 

It was good enough. I felt very close to shrinking in on myself until I was nothing but a speck of dust and less than. I would have too, but the timing.

Ramos emerged at that moment, placing a stethoscope back into her bag. If she'd heard anything, she didn't comment on it.

"It seems like a combination of exhaustion, heat, and stress that ultimately aggravated the symptoms." She stripped off latex gloves and rolled them up to trash. "It's important that anyone with silver poisoning avoids too much direct sun or heat without proper protection, it can irritate the reactions."

The reactions. As in, reacting. As in, ongoing. As in, not scars after all. 

Zahir rubbed his eyes. "How can we help?" he said. 

She pursed her lips. "Treat it like the flu. Plenty of fluids, keep track of his temperature, hearty foods, and as much rest as possible. If his fever gets too bad, a wet washcloth might help. I'll come in later tonight, then mornings and evenings until he's better. Okay?" 

We nodded. Zahir and Diego looked as though they wanted to go in his room, but Ramos shook her head. They dragged their feet mournfully back to their own rooms. Kenzo was blank-faced, and had no problems returning to his own, although his fists were tight against his chest. The girls watched them go before Rosalie was up and leaving, Meredith trailing after her with neither one sparing a glance my way. 

Zoe stopped in front of me as Wynter chased after them. "Did you know?" she said. "About all of it?"

"Some," I said. "Most."

"And?"

"And..." I shrugged half-heartedly. "Who was I?"

It's his life.

The girls disappeared. Ramos beckoned me over as soon as they were gone. 

"I think you should check on him the most often," she said. "I know you two have a connected room. That, and I know he trusts you."

That startled me. "What?"

Ramos patted my shoulder and refused to explain. "We'll be back later." She headed for the kitchen.

Coach was still standing by the doorway. She looked at me, and frowned. "You knew," was all she said.

"I'm sorry," I said, because it seemed appropriate. 

"Don't be, I'm just surprised. How?"

I shrugged. "I asked why he couldn't see well."

Coach stared at me for a long, long while. "Let me know if anything happens," she repeated.

With that, she closed the door in her wake, and left me as the last one standing.

I'd entered Kane's room at dinner time. Diego had made sopa de pollo, which he claimed was a universal cure of all illnesses, although his smile looked fairly dim when he said it, like even he couldn't help but think: except silver.

The room was pungent with the smell of soap and cologne and metal, far too much metal, as if a bottle of silver had been splashed over the walls. Kane was halfway-conscious on the bed. the covers over him and nothing but a pair of linen shorts available to hide his feverish skin. If he heard me come in, he didn't say so. But silence seemed it would be my ally more anything. 

I stepped over a pair of black slides and a book about the French Revolution as I tiptoed inside. I set the tray and water glass on the bedside table, although I had to move most of its contents on the floor.

"Dinner," I told him. "Ramos is coming by with some meds soon."

Kane didn't acknowledge me and I took that as a goodbye. The scent of metal wasn't doing it for my stomach anyway, and I'd only get more nauseous the longer I stood. I turned around.

I walked around to his walls, his shelves. Trophies of all kinds, newspaper clippings circled with red, coated poster paper, thick printed photographs, bronze placquards with unfamiliar names, a Corvus jacket with a crow mid-flight embroidered on its back. Starry-eyed IPRA racers, former Corvus, strangers I'd never meet and faces I'd never see, AVALDI UNDEFEATED and RED DIAMOND VICTORY. A girl stood behind Kane in a photograph, hugging his shoulders, her hair blazing auburn, and a port wine birthmark coloring her throat in the unmistakable shape of a blooming flower. A black signature coated the white space, a date written beneath it.

I reached out to brush my finger against the ink. I checked the date.

"Poppy."

I stilled. I turned around.

Kane had situated himself to sit up a little, just enough to see me. He blinked blearily at me, then lifted a finger at the photo. "That. Her."

I lowered my hand. "I'm sorry," I said.

Kane just hummed, letting his head loll to the side. "She didn't think she'd pull it off, not the first Diamond, at least. Said she didn't do the best under pressure." His voice was hoarse, salt and strong coffee. He let out a dry laugh. "Bad test-taker."

I pursed my lips. He closed his eyes. Moonlight began to paint him a careful blue, a delicate shade that was close to the one of my cardigan. He looked closer to a faded painting, a grainy film, a young man befriending the shadows on the wall. Summer seeped in from the windows with an indigo face, staring Kane down into oblivion.

"Rosalie's right," I murmured, staring at the picture. "Some secrets aren't worth keeping."

"No," he agreed. 

"You should have told them," I said, which just about made me the worst hypocrite the face of the Earth had ever seen. "You still have time."

"It would've have caused chaos at a time there was too much chaos going on already," he said. "Look at us now."

"You have time."

"No," Kane murmured. "I never had time."

The confession was enough to tear a hole in my chest and take out every major organ of my body one syllable at a time. Liver. Kidneys. Intestines. The works. Timing, timing, timing: a racer's Achilles heel. There was always a better time.

I closed the door behind me, the scent of metal eradicating my appetite for the rest of the day.

The next day came in the low light of dawn. Nia was ringing my phone up like it was a free-range register, and Corvus had taken the exact opposite route in efforts to eradicate all communication for as long as possible. The press was running my Eval's results up to high Heaven, my secondary profile update the next big headline of the racing gossip columns. Class-blind Corvus, Stirling Stalled, Class III Club; if I hadn't been a laughingstock before, I was a downright practical joke now. 

For once, maybe everyone was a little disenchanted with answering their phones.

I got out of the bed to head for the bathroom and re-dress the gumiho bite, which looked better than I myself felt. Once it was as clean as I could get it, I pulled on a shirt and headed outside for the kitchen.

To my surprise, Rosalie was already there.

She had changed into nothing but a graphic crow tee and sleep shorts. Her blonde waves were piled atop her head, bound by a purple scrunchie. She had her computer perched on her lap, and looked up at my approach, momentarily startled to see me.

"Yun? It's five AM, you're not asleep?" she said.

I stared. "You all should've been called owls, not crows," I murmured. "Sleep and I aren't on speaking terms." I opened the fridge and unearthed an iced coffee and tangerine. I tossed the tangerine to her. "Why are you awake?"

Rosalie shrugged with a nonchalance I didn't believe. She closed her laptop and placed it on the coffee table. I sat down across from her on the couch with my coffee, the night a faded roar outside, blacker than the ink infiltrating Kane's blood and the guilt dripping over my bones. She peeled the tangerine with methodical hands.

"Couldn't sleep," she said. "I don't know how anyone can right now."

"Sleep the stress off," I supplied. "Why are you out here?"

"I had the feeling you'd be here," she said. "King mentioned you were a bit of a night crawler."

I paused. "If you're still mad," I said, "I understand."

Rosalie hummed. "I am," she said. "But...that's not why I wanted to find you."

"Then, why?"

A moment of quiet passed. Rosalie watched the outside city behind me, its faded lights flickering in the dying hour. When she spoke, she spoke to the city.

"I met Kane in freshman year," she said. "And we absolutely hated each other. It wasn't even an Alpha versus Alpha thing, it was just an us thing, you know? He got into fights, wouldn't interact with us if he could help it, had crappy friends, a crappy attitude. I remember we got into a fight once, and I told him that I would send him as far away as possible too if I were his parents."

I raised a brow. "Damn."

"Even if he was a jackass, I shouldn't have said it," she acknowledged. "We avoided each other for the entire first semester. But eventually, we once had to room together along with Meredith for our first Yellow Diamond match. I think it was our captain's doing." She laughed to herself, sad, a little irritated. "We were forced to talk, then we ended up talking the whole night. We came out of the match like friends.

"It wasn't until later, when he left his old friends and Luan, when he became captain after Poppy, that I realized how little we knew about his life before Corvus," she continued, her brows knit. "I'd never met a golden child before, and I always assumed they weren't much different from everyone else. A cooler title, I suppose. I thought Kane was just spoiled by the glory. I think now, it's more that he feels he never quite has it."  

The pieces fell together all at once when she said that, each part aligning with the next. I thought of Kane on the balcony, on the track, in the locker room. I thought of Poppy, of Red Diamond, the flush of its confetti on the newspaper print.

He was just...scared.

Rosalie turned her eyes towards Kane's closed door. "He could have gone back to his family, when Poppy died," she said. "Covus tanked so terribly that it could've put his entire status in jeopardy—even I knew his family wouldn't be happy with him being associated with us at the time. So when he took the captain position, it felt like everyone, even Corvus, was waiting for him to fail.

"But he didn't," she said, nodding. "He did everything he could to try and get Corvus back. He played the press game, stopped fighting, raced every race and practiced at night. I used to think it was because he wanted to prove he could be a captain at all." Rosalie turned her head down. "But I think it was because it felt like he owed it to us to stay."

I stared at Rosalie for a long moment, trying to see where her anger started and her ache began. I wondered if there was neither, and if the two were one in the same. 

"Why," I said, "are you telling me this?"

Rosalie paused. Then, she shrugged. She laughed to herself. "Kane is a haughty, stereotypical Alpha that's damn smart but very oblivious and a real jackass," she said.

"True," I said.

"And he's my best friend." Her green eyes were soft jade. "And he's done everything he could for this team to be it's best, no matter what anyone else says about it," she said. "We've lost a friend before. We never got a chance to say something. But we do now." 

Rosalie's eyes went glassy. She closed her eyes, rested her chin on her knees. It was a strange experience, to see champions feel at such a loss. It was worse to know I'd played a part in it.

I chewed my lip. I said, "I'm sorry that I never said something."

Rosalie shook her head. "I can't ask you to break his trust for our comfort," she said. "I'm just...frustrated, I guess."

"There's still time," I told her. "You never know."

She sighed. "Maybe."

Maybe. Translation: not enough.

I got up from the couch. "Do you guys own any jade?"

She frowned. "What?"

I turned away. "Never mind."

And, never mind.

4:44 AM - kane

echo

I stared at the message. When had my name become so painful to read? I pushed my knuckles into my chest.

I rose from the bed and headed through the bathroom. Rosalie's words hadn't left me the whole night, wrenching me from sleep every two to three hours. June was a cricket chirp outside the Talon, asking for summer's full attention and never quite getting it.

I closed the door behind me.

Kane lay across the bed, sideways for some reason, the covers thrown about over him, the pillows in utter disarray. His phone was beside his head, and he stared up at his ceiling, only blinking when he heard the door click. The scent of silver had faded to something somewhat bearable now, but I still made a point to wipe at my nose.

I said, "You look awful."

Kane said, "Yeah."

"You feel awful?"

Kane said, "Awful-er."

I chewed my lip. I thought of Rosalie's eyes, broken and so pale.

I took the thermometer from the bedside table. Diego's soup had been left half-eaten, picked at and ultimately abandoned. I said, "Lying in a different direction is an interesting method, I'll tell you."

Kane said, "Get that thing away from me."

"It's a thermometer. Open your mouth."

"Never texting you again," he muttered, and I took the chance of him talking to stick the thermometer past his lips.

When it beeped, I checked the screen and cursed. 104.2. "You go a degree higher, your brain will start fucking melting," I sighed. I got to my feet, heading for the bathroom. "Stay here."

"No," he said, then stayed there.

I scoured the drawers and cabinets of the bathroom until I found a plastic bowl and a clean washcloth. I headed back, then grimaced. "Did you even change?"

"Stop judging me," he muttered.

"We're past that with a room like this," I muttered. I headed for his dresser, pulling open several drawers until I found something pajama-like, tossing them on the foot of his bed. "Just so we're clear, this isn't weird."

"You're weird," he said.

"Whatever happened to no judging?" I joked.

"Whatever. I hate everyone," Kane muttered. I ignored him and yanked the covers off. "Don't," he sighed. I frowned. Kane grimaced. "I reek of it."

"What?"

"Metal." He shook his head. "You'll get sick."

I stared. Kane buried his face in a pillow. My stomach curled and clenched, but less so from the silver and more so from the guilt.

I coughed up the courage anyway. "Shut up, man, if I wanted to get sick, I would've done it already. Get up."

He didn't agree to that for another minute, then eventually gave up under sanitary rationale. He made a struggle of the buttons on his shirt and jeans, to which I let him his fun with before ultimately doing it all myself, holding my breath as I went. When I was finally done, Kane had foregone talking for the sake of focusing on breathing, his whole body tense with the effort. He made slow work of lying back down, muscles taut. 

I sat by his legs. I dunked the washcloth into the water, and placed it on Kane's forehead. When he opened his eyes, I said, "Why'd you text me?"

He considered that. He turned his head to the side, towards the moonlight. "Dunno," he murmured. I pressed the washcloth against his jaw, the side of his throat. "Forgot I had that photo."

"What photo?"

"Old one. Too old." He sighed. "Thought of first year. Thought of first years. You." He nodded slightly to himself like that made sense. He tapped his temple. "Always in here somewhere."

I might need a cold washcloth myself. I pressed it on his cheek. "I got one of those faces."

I did the other side of his face, then moved on to his neck and chest, his shoulders and arms. Kane watched me as I did so, his black eyes as dark as the blood that had dripped from his lips. My stomach clenched.

"Stop looking at me unless you're gonna say something."

Kane said something. "Why're you named Echo?"

I gaped. "You really are deluded," I murmured. "Why's it matter?"

"Curious." He said it in a criminally soft voice, earnest and like gossamer. How unfair.

I shook my head. "You are a pain to keep up with when you're sick, let me tell you." I pressed the washcloth against the inside of his bicep, lingered there to feel the vein running under the skin. "I look a lot like my mom so much so they said I was like her 'echo'. I think she thought it was funny."

"Korean name?"

"Eko."

He scoffed at that. I said, "When you changed your name, why Kane King?"

When I ran the cloth along his forearm, he lifted his hand up until his fingers were close enough to toy with a part of my sleeve as he closed his eyes. "Wang is 'king'."

"Then, Kane?"

"I read a book about the Gaelic language. They said it meant 'battle'," he murmured. "Guess I thought it'd be a strong name."

"Battle king," I scoffed as I let the cloth glide over his sternum where his shirt fell down his chest. "What's the battle?"

Kane shrugged. "What isn't?"

He didn't seem to be sweating as much when I finished minutes later, although the tightness in his muscles hadn't left. I dipped the washcloth into water one more time before it got lukewarm, and laid it across his forehead. The silver smell was barely a ghost now.

Kane seemed unimpressed, albeit amused. "I think this is a myth," he murmured.

"Who's biochem here?" I replied. I got to my feet. "Get some sleep."

Kane's fingers snagged onto my sleeve. I hesitated, the gumiho wound coming back to me like a freight train. The bandages were still around my bicep, hidden under a long-sleeve. He cracked open an eye. I watched the moonlight dance in his iris, poison the black to ivory. The half-healed wound burned.

"Stay here," he murmured.

My heart's arteries popped left and right. I bled out in the midst of the mess of Kane King's memories. Pop! Drip. Drip.

I swallowed. "Hey, I did what you texted me for."

"Didn't text you for that," he muttered. "You did that on your own. You never listen, y'know?" He tugged harder. "I'm tired."

"Try sleep."

"I am."

"This isn't sleeping. This is deception."

"You should've asked."

"Another body isn't gonna make your fever go down."

Kane tugged again. "Just a few minutes."

I wondered if there was a way to take out your whole chest, to tear out its innards and live forever without the burden of it aching at its whim. 

I pulled my sleeve up and rested on my good arm. I sighed. "A few minutes."

Kane finally let go. He took an arduous minute or three to maneuver himself to the other side of the bed. I slid into the heat of the sheets. Embedded deep in them, past the onslaught of silver, clean cotton found its way into my lungs.

Beside me, Kane said, "Hi."

I shook my head. "Don't do that."

"Annyeong."

"Really?"

He smiled a little to himself, like he was funny. I seized my chest. He said, "Hey."

"'Hey' is for horses."

"Hey. Don't call me sunbae."

"I don't. I call you hwanan sunbae."

"That's weird. Echo. You're weird."

"This is beginning to feel like a few minutes too long."

Kane said, "Why sunbae?"

I shrugged. "What else? Hyung?" Kane shrugged, then smiled. I said, "Yeah, nice try. That's weird. Hwanan hyung? Too much alliteration. You're only a year and a half older."

"Stop that." His fingers made their way around my sleeve once more. They brushed against the skin of my wrist, heat freezing my skin. "Just if you want. If you need to."

I didn't really know what "need to" entailed. But his voice was earnest, a quiet promise in its syllables. Besides, hyung had never sat well with me thanks to Elias. If I was going to spite him, it was going to be to with something peaceful.

"Algesseo," I murmured. "Jal ja."

He scoffed to himself. "Not even formal," he muttered in hushed Korean. "Where's the respect?"

I took his hand from my wrist, let our fingertips intertwine for just a moment. I murmured, "Jal ja, hyung."

Kane finally let his eyes close for the night.

The night waned, waiting to be avenged.

Ramos said, "Echo."

My eyes shot open. I turned my head.

Ramos stood above the bed, her brows raised, her medical bag in her hand. She said, "Good morning?"

I looked from me, to the bed, to Kane beside me, to the whole picture together. I immediately tried, "It's not like that."

Ramos let me revel in that embarrassment and looked at the bowl of water with the washcloth, alongside the thermometer.

I said, "That's not me."

Ramos set her bag down and looked rather tired. "I won't ask."

"Thanks." I swung my legs out of the bed. "Sorry. Bye. Good morning. Bye." I walked, tripped over a pair of sneakers, subsequently stubbed my toe on an abandoned box of Cheerios. I cursed violently. "Mother-fucking-fucker."

Kane groaned. "Who's talking?"

Ramos shook her head. "Oy vey." She pushed me towards the door. "Go get some rest. I'll take it from here."

"Take what? Take nothing. I wasn't doing anything."

"Yes, Echo. Now get out."

I got out.

Kenzo was already in the kitchen, Diego hovering over the cutting board, a pot and pan out with some sort of soup and eggs going. Kenzo looked from me to Kane's door and back to me. He narrowed his eyes.

I held up my hands. "It's not like that."

Kenzo shook his head. "Shut up."

Diego looked over his shoulder at my voice. "Hey, cobayo. We're cooking up a storm. How's King?"

"How would I know?" I hurried.

Diego frowned. "Just wondering."

"Don't know. Nope."

"O-kay."

I spun on my heel. Tripped on said heel. Diego frowned. "You good?"

"Guilty?"

"What?"

"What?"

"I'm gonna go." I headed for my room and didn't come out until the eggs were nearly burnt.

"You're getting me into trouble," I told Kane that night.

Kane looked over at me. He said, "Good."

I leaned against the wall, beside the trophies, the glass balcony doors welcoming the late hour's moonlight. Kane, even sick and hazy with fever, seemed so tangible beneath it. Whatever I'd stepped into, I was hurdling through it now, right for a black hole of it I'd never return from.

Still, I stayed.

"How come your bed is infinitely messier yet better than mine?" I asked.

Kane's grin was a blue pearl, a flame's shadow. He said, "Because I'm here."

It took me a moment. The laugh that eventually escaped me was lighter than I'd expected. I said, "You've got more innuendos than I ever thought possible from someone so..."

"Uptight?" he echoed.

"High-strung," I added.

Kane shifted over and said, "That's fair."

I had to clutch at my chest just to manage to walk over towards him. I said, "A few minutes. Then I'm out."

Kane only hummed.

I slid in beside him. He laid the covers over me, then his arm, hot as an iron rod over my body, heavy like one, too. It pushed the breath out of my lungs, scorched my skin off. Cotton infested my nose. The bite had healed by now, the smell of blood likely gone, the ache now a dull pulse. But being under the weight of Kane's arm, it felt like being bitten all over again, a phantom jaw closing around the artery.

I said, "What's this?"

Kane said, "Shut up and sleep."

"I said a few minutes."

"Didn't agree."

"What's your angle?"

Kane wrapped his arm around my waist, and pulled me closer. I wondered if an anatomical supernova had ever occurred; I wondered if you could have a heart attack in silence.

He said, "I can sleep."

If I got one chance to win my life back, to wager it all out one more time, without my brother, my father, or Mercy to stop me, with nothing but my face towards Janchi and RIYU alone, it was a chance I couldn't take lightly, and I bet I couldn't wage foolishly.

So if I was worth all the guilt I'd spat throughout my life, it would have to be a clean sweep across the table, without one damn chip left in the pit.

I said, "Maybe I've got jade in my bones."

Kane's grin made me a stranger, made me a survivor. He said, "Maybe you do."

We slept to the sound of June as a fever came for us. Like a bloodhound with an appetite.

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king of my heart <3

[Last active: 2 years ago]

(ty for reading! this chapter was a lot calmer in a more solemn, sorrowful way but that's the fun of it :) thank u very much for all the support and thank you even more for reading, as this is quite lengthy w/a lot of info so, props to u
i'm going to be traveling for the next two weeks, then i'll be moving, so my usual updates of 2x a week have a possibility to decrease to 1x a week for a while, just so you all know. i and the little star are very grateful for ur patience :D )