My sister’s words are like a knife to the gut. Hot and fast. Nothing but pain. It takes a minute for their truth to sink in. For the burn to start.
“The ambassador came and accused him of having secrets,” Mei Yee says. Her eyes are closed. Lids fluttering and white like moth wings. “Longwai shot him.”
Dead. Dai.
Those two words sound so alike, but I refuse to believe they go together. They don’t fit. I was just with him. In the alley. He looked so strong. So sure. So red and alive under the light of the window.
But he knew it was coming. You get your sister out. Get as far away from this city as possible. Don’t look back. He knew I’d have to do this without him.
Mei Yee breathes out beside me. Her breath sounds like the shudder of dead leaves, the rip of paper. I hear it and remember that she’s wearing nothing against the cold and her silk slippers are in bloody shreds. Dai might be dead, but my sister is alive. And I mean to keep her that way.
“Here.” I shrug off the jacket. Hand it to her. It’s drenched in my sweat, my blood, but the fabric still smells like lemon and green tea. Like Dai’s house. “We have to go.”
“Where?” Mei Yee whispers.
I don’t want to go back to Dai’s apartment. Face the vast, empty grunge of those tiles. The two black marks that will never be erased. But my orange envelope is there and Mei Yee needs good shoes. Proper clothes. And I have a feeling that Chma will be there, waiting. I can’t lose him, too.
But after that?
I think of our father’s house. Our mother’s herb garden littered with bottle caps and liquor glass. Hollow windows and doors. I imagine Father leaned against the doorjamb. Waiting. Cheeks redder than the setting sun. Fists curled. And Mother behind him. Always behind him.
I’m not ready for that fight. Not with a burn in my shoulder. A gun in my hand.
I don’t know where we’ll go. Somewhere far, far away from here. Somewhere we’ll never, ever have to look back.
“We’ll figure it out,” I tell her.