Page 83 of The Gods Will Sing Our Song

Violet

I fall to my knees in the barrack. An old man is there, looking around confusedly, though without alarm. He must be the human Akira possessed. He’s dressed plainly in a fisherman’s attire.

More gunshots riddle the air outside. Ren. There’s no time to say anything to the man. I cry, “For my divine favor—” My mind is a wash of fire. My deer burns inside my pocket. The searing heat comes and goes, as though it’s speaking in Morse code, warning me. “Save him. Save Ren.”

Chapter Thirty

Ren

I’m staring right down the barrel when he pulls the trigger.

The rifle that’s gonna blast me straight to kingdom come. There’s no time to duck. The officer doesn’t hesitate.

Click.

For a moment, I think it’s happened. I’ve been shot and am already dead, I just haven’t realized it. Then the officer yanks his rifle back. It’s jammed.

I don’t have time to process it. I duck down, yank open the door of the car, and dive inside. Kai jumps into the other side. Bullets strike the front, making the whole thing shake. The windshield shatters. Glass splinters over us. Steam hisses from beneath the hood, sending up a white angry cloud. Don’t understand it. Can’t.

“Tiger,” I gasp, “you okay?”

“Yeah! You, Dragon?”

“I’ll be better if we get out of here.”

Staying low, we clamber into the back seat and then out the passenger doors. We run down the firebreak at full sprint. Men race alongside us, trying to escape the bullets. I realize we’re passing Akira’s barrack. Someone emerges from it, slamming the door behind them. I careen to a stop. Shock fills me.

Violet.

Time stops. I must get to her. I must get her out of here.

“What are you doing?” I shout, running to her. I don’t wait for her response. I sweep her right off the stairs and into my arms, clutching her to my chest. She bundles into me, small and shaking. Her hands grip my shirt. I hold her, and with Kai next to us, we run.

Chapter Thirty-One

Violet

Dawn spills through the sky by the time Ren and I get to my barrack, Kai just behind us. Ren is drenched in sweat. I can see his pulse throbbing in his throat. His eyes are dilated, verging on feverish. They rove all around, seeking threats. He’s the embodiment of my drawings, of the things that dwell fathoms-deep in the sea, never touched by sunlight. And I’ve never felt safer.

“We should go in different directions,” Kai says to Ren. “They’re gonna start rounding people up and arresting them. I’ll go home. You should, too.”

“I will,” Ren says, but he doesn’t move. I peer at Kai, resentment flooding me as I think about Mr. Nomura hiding in the library and the fear in Mrs. Hata’s eyes. They’ve only tried to make things better, but their own community hunted them down and tore this place apart with everyone trapped inside. Kai meets my eyes. Fury turns my gaze hot. He lifts his chin and stares back at me, unflinching. There is no remorse in him, not one bit. Only last month we sat by the fire together, and we were the same.

Not anymore.

“Better hurry.” He speaks only to Ren. Then he runs off.

“You’re hurt,” Ren murmurs, and his worried voice is a contrast to his ferocious appearance. I realize my elbows and knees are scratched, the skin torn right off. I must’ve bitten my lip at some point because blood tangs my tongue. “What happened?”

“It worked,” I say shakily. “The relic we made. He’s…he’s gone. So is his shadow.”

“Damn,” Ren says brusquely. “It worked. We survived.” I’m surprised when his voice twists. He sounds almost panicked, even though he’s safe now. “There was a moment when there was a rifle pointed right at me and…”

“You’re safe,” I say, and he nods. I shudder. Ren is okay. He survived the night. He wasn’t shot. But I wonder if he was supposed to be. Akira said an hourglass had been turned and everyone’s actions were draining toward their end. Somehow, there was enough magic in the divine favor for Ren’s fate to catch, to cling to the glass, to not let go.

I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him down to me. This kiss is different than before. It’s ragged. It tastes of peril and fear. It tastes of sweat and blood and burdens we didn’t know we’d carry. I realize he isn’t going to let go or leave me. But he has to.

“You need to get home,” I whisper. He nods. Even then, he clings to me, almost like a frightened young boy. I press my lips to his hair. I taste the salt of his sweat and the blood from my own split lip. He trembles and I press my body against his, drawing him into the rhythm of my breath. Then, slowly, I extricate myself. “I’ll see you soon,” I whisper. “Go home.”