Chapter 33 Yiran
Yiran
The cold night air woke Yiran up from the daze of the accident. He shivered and zipped his jacket, turning up the shearling
collar for warmth. In the fog, the light from the streetlamps dimmed to a hazy rust orange. Everything felt surreal, like
he was underwater. Dark and misty, the road seemed to stretch on and the distance to the body on the road felt longer than
it should.
What if the person was dead? Then you’d be a murderer, dumbass.
Yiran swallowed, his throat suddenly parched. He would get kicked out of the Academy. He’d get kicked out of life. This wasn’t
a minor traffic offense. His grandfather wouldn’t and couldn’t get him off a manslaughter charge, and Commissioner Senai was
kind, not corrupt. Young, rich, bastard, no-good grandson of the Song family . . . The headlines practically wrote themselves. With the media circus that would surround his case, some district judge would
want to make an example of him. They would try him as an adult. He would go to jail. And he would deserve it.
There.
The body was in front of him.
His heart sank. It was a boy no older than himself, someone with a full life ahead of him. A life Yiran had possibly cut short.
The boy’s dark hair fanned out on the tarmac, and one of his legs was bent at an angle that turned Yiran’s stomach. He was
wearing a flimsy ivory shirt with billowing sleeves and loose pants. His feet were bare as if he’d woken from sleep and wandered
onto this highway. There was no blood on his clothes or the ground.
Bending over, Yiran reached a shaky hand to the boy’s neck, fingers meeting skin as cold as ice.
A pulse.
Yiran reached into his pocket, only to remember he’d left his phone with Rui.
“Call an ambulance!” he shouted back at the car.
The fog was thicker now, and the headlights were diffused orbs like the eyes of a demon. He couldn’t see Rui or Zizi.
“Rui?” he shouted again.
There was no response.
Should he pick the boy up and carry him to the car? But moving him might worsen his injuries. He glanced back at the boy.
Goose bumps erupted on his arms. Was that lock of hair always across the boy’s cheek? Was the angle of his broken leg different?
Panic crawled up Yiran’s vertebrae and nestled in his head, its worm-like fingers wriggling in his brain. He was underwater
again, pressure in his ears, in his head. Maybe it was delayed shock. Maybe this was all a dream, maybe—that sound, like the
scratch of nails on a chalkboard—was it coming from the boy?
The panic worms in Yiran’s brain squealed and squirmed. Shakily, he pushed to his feet. He had to get back to the car.
Something cold wrapped itself around his ankle.
He looked down.
The boy’s eyes were open.
Yiran’s entire body screamed.
Next thing he knew he was flat on the ground, the wind knocked out of his lungs. He could smell it—that miasmic mix of flowers
and nightmares. How had he missed it before? So much for his training. He didn’t have a weapon with him, not even a talisman.
His body was gripped with fear, unable to move. He was nothing but a tasty snack for a Revenant.
The Revenant boy stood over him now, one leg still bent at a horrific angle.
He wasn’t snarling like the wild monster at the Night Market or morphing into distorted shapes.
The boy’s slender eyes sparkled with intelligence as he gazed through long lashes, and when his lips curled back, Yiran noticed that his front teeth were slightly crooked in an altogether too-human way.
He was beautiful.
“Where do you think you’re going, handsome?” the Revenant boy said.
“You can talk.”
“How observant of you.” There was a series of cracks as the Revenant straightened his broken leg. He pouted at Yiran. “That
really hurt.”
“You ran at a moving car. What did you expect?” said Yiran’s asinine mouth.
“Ha ha. Let’s see if you’re just as funny when you’re dead.”
The Revenant’s hand was at Yiran’s neck, cold fingers digging in, pulling Yiran to his knees.
“You’re an Exorcist, aren’t you?”
“Cadet,” Yiran choked out stubbornly. He was getting lightheaded, which might explain his stupid and petty urge to argue with
a Revenant.
To his surprise, the Revenant boy loosened his grip.
Yiran gulped air into his lungs.
“What are you? A sixth-year?”
Yiran wheezed, “Enrolled a few weeks ago.”
The Revenant raised an eyebrow.
“I’m a special case.”
“You should’ve stayed away from that place and all the lies they feed you. This world is full of useless fools. There’s no
need to save them all.”
“What are you talking about?”
The Revenant’s lips curled with pleasure. “Don’t worry your pretty little head over it. I’m only making polite conversation
over dinner.”
“Seems a bit rich for you to tell me not to worry, seeing that I’m the meal,” Yiran retorted, giving him a humorless grin
in return.
Keeping his smile, the Revenant licked his lips suggestively.
Yiran felt a shiver of anticipation. “Do you have a name or something?” he asked, suddenly curious. Maybe too curious.
Confusion flickered in the Revenant’s eyes, as if he never thought someone would ask a creature like him something so courteous.
“Yuki.”
“Well, Yuki, can’t say I’m pleased to meet you under such circumstances. I’m Yiran.”
“Enough with the attitude.” Yuki rolled his eyes, muttering, “If only you knew.”
“Knew what?”
“Aren’t you a nosy one?”
“Aren’t you a tease?”
Yuki pressed his full lips together, seemingly unwilling to say more. But Yiran could tell he wanted to. It struck him that
Yuki might be enjoying their conversation. The cold hand around Yiran’s neck was relaxed now, as if Yuki had left it there
because he wanted to touch rather than to hurt. But Yiran had a feeling any sudden moves from him meant a certain and swift
death. He needed to play for time, to draw things out until Rui and Zizi came looking for him.
“You’re interesting.” Yiran kept his tone conversational, as if the two of them were hanging out together on a coffee shop
date and one of them didn’t have his hand wrapped around the other’s throat. “I didn’t know Revenants could speak. The last
time I met one, all it did was growl at me. It had these scary red eyes and it turned into a tentacled monster and tried to
kill me. You’re different, you look different—I mean, no tentacles, which is awesome. You seem so . . . you’re not like—”
“Not like other Revenants?” Yuki scrunched his nose and made a face that Yiran thought was unfairly cute. “You’re so transparent.
If you think flirting with me in such a pathetic manner will stop me from ki—”
“Human. I was going to say you seem so human.”
Yuki went so still it felt like time had stopped. Emotion crept across his face in a slow, painful way.
Yiran saw a kind of wretched yearning for impossible things, things beyond Yuki’s reach now, a melancholic longing for lost hopes and wasted wishes.
Yuki’s hand fell from Yiran’s throat, hanging limply by his side. “What makes you think I’m not?”
It took a full second for everything to sink in.
Yiran breathed out. “You’re a Hybrid Revenant.”
Yuki smirked. “Took you long enough.”
Shaken, Yiran couldn’t make sense of anything. A Hybrid, he’s a Hybrid, his mind kept repeating. Rui and Zizi were right. Hybrids did exist. Surely the Guild knew? Why had he never been told or warned about them?
“Don’t look so worried,” Yuki said. “The first kill is always the clumsiest, but I have better table manners now. Unlike some
of the others, I don’t play with my food. Your death will be painless, like falling into a deep sleep.”
“Wait! Tell me more,” Yiran said, desperately grabbing onto anything he could think of to delay his imminent demise. “I want
to know more, I want to know about you.”
“About me?” Yuki was surprised.
“Yes, you. There’re other Hybrids like you, right? You must have a hideout. Where is it? How many of you are there?”
“Fishing for information? It doesn’t matter how many of us there are—there’s no hope for you. I’m tired of being hunted; the
only hope is in building a new world for us.”
“A new world for Hybrids? The Exorcists will stop you—” An iron grip choked off Yiran’s words.
“Then we’ll create a world without Exorcists. I’ve had enough of your questions,” Yuki hissed. He leaned in, dipping his head, lips a breath away from Yiran’s,
almost like he was about to kiss him. At the last moment, Yuki turned his head, and all of Yiran’s questions disappeared.
A quick shot of pain. Cold spreading through his body.
The wet trickle of blood down his neck. He’d learned about the drinking in his lectures, but this felt nothing like what the professors had described.
His body relaxed, a heady sensation spreading through his limbs, a kind of perverse euphoria.
Was this it? Was this how he would depart this world?
It’s not a bad way to die, he thought vaguely.
Something flickered.
Through half-closed eyes, Yiran saw . . . fire?