Chapter 14
June
I closed my eyes and rested the icy metal spoons over my eyelids. Cold. Heavy. For a few seconds, the chill helped.
Sei Zai.
He was there again. His hand reaching toward me, his mouth moving without a sound, and behind him—that boy.
Except my mind had turned him into something worse.
Something inhuman. He stood over Kai with a machete in his hand, smiling as though this were nothing more than a game.
He raised the blade again, slowly, almost playfully, before bringing it down.
“No!”
The scream tore out of me. The spoons slipped from my eyes and clattered to the floor. Tears were already streaming down my cheeks, undoing whatever progress I’d made reducing the swelling.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Kai falling. Bleeding. Reaching for me while Sei Zai smiled. My mind kept inventing new ways for him to die. Each nightmare found a different way to make me watch.
So I stopped sleeping.
Closing my eyes had become more frightening than staying awake.
I couldn’t believe I’d once thought looking after Maru was difficult.
This was worse.
Then there was the fear that Kai might die in the middle of the night.
For days, I’d been trapped somewhere between nightmares and waking ones. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw him dying. Every time I opened them, he was still there—breathing, but hurt badly enough that I couldn’t stop wondering if that breath might be his last.
I looked toward the sofa. The first thing I remembered after the attack was his shirt.
White. Then red. So much red.
I’d known immediately that he’d lost a dangerous amount of blood.
I pushed myself off the chair and walked back toward him. Kai hadn’t moved. He looked too peaceful. His skin was pale, paper-white against the dark sofa, and a chill travelled down my spine.
I crouched beside him and carefully placed one finger beneath his nose. Then moved my fingers to his neck. I closed my eyes and released the breath I’d been holding.
He was still alive.
I’d checked him so many times I’d lost count. And still, every time, fear crept back in.
The fear of losing him.
It was ridiculous. I’d seen people in worse conditions. I’d watched patients survive things that should have killed them.
But this was Kai.
A tear slipped down my cheek, then another. I wiped them away angrily. “Stop it,” I whispered to myself.
I left him to rest and headed into the kitchen. The silence felt almost unnatural after everything that had happened.
I filled a pot and put it on the stove. Millet congee again. Third day in a row. Something warm and easy to digest, ready for Kai if—and when—he woke up.
Then I reached into the pantry and pulled out a can of tomato sardines. Fish salad. Simple enough. I frowned at the can when I saw no pull tab.
I hadn’t needed a can opener until now, and I had no idea where it was. I opened the drawer beside the stove.
Nothing.
The next one.
Nothing.
And the next.
Still nothing.
My mother’s voice immediately appeared inside my head.
When are you going to learn to close things behind you?
I could almost hear her sigh.
Drawers. Doors. Cupboards. Everything you touch.
I smiled despite myself. “Leave me alone.” I shook my head. “I’m tired, Mom.”
It was strange how little silence it took. I’d spent years telling myself I needed time alone—time to think, time to hear myself—and apparently, all that quiet had given my brain enough space to bring my mother’s voice back.
Unbelievable.
I finally found the can opener. I reached to close the drawer, then stopped.
Something was wrong.
I looked at it again. The last drawer was slightly different. Or maybe I was simply exhausted, sleep-deprived, and running on adrenaline.
I pushed it closed, then opened it again. I looked at the drawer beside it, then back at this one, frowning as I pressed my fingers between my eyebrows.
“What am I doing?” I almost laughed at myself, but something still bothered me.
The depth. It didn’t look right.
I pulled the drawer all the way out and set it on the counter. Then I grabbed a knife and used it as a makeshift ruler, measuring the depth of the drawer beside it. Then this one.
There was a difference. Not much. About an inch. But it was there.
I emptied the drawer onto the dining table: utensils, packets, a few batteries, and random things that had somehow found their way into it despite having nothing to do with cooking.
Then I turned it over and tapped the back.
A dull thud. Then—
Crack.
A small piece of wood popped loose, and something black fell onto the table.
I froze.
A small leather notebook.
For a moment, I simply stared at it. I’d searched Dannie’s apartment for days, looking through cupboards, drawers, shelves, and cabinets for anything that might help us understand what was happening. I’d never once considered that he might have hidden something inside the furniture.
Of course he had.
Dannie had lived his entire life knowing that information could get people killed. Even I had a hidden safe in my apartment back in New York—not because I had anything particularly dangerous to hide. Perhaps because having a secret compartment made me feel safer.
For Dannie, it wouldn’t have been about feeling safe.
It would have been survival.
I picked up the notebook. The leather was soft from years of handling. When I opened it, his handwriting filled the pages. I recognised it immediately.
The pages were filled with a strange combination of Roman letters, Chinese characters, numbers, symbols, and short phrases that made no sense together. I turned another page, then another.
I couldn’t understand a thing.
My mind started guessing, filling in the blanks. Could Dannie have had access to a private blood bank? Someone who could arrange emergency blood without questions? A doctor who worked off the books? Someone willing to donate?
I needed to find out.
Some of the numbers looked like phone numbers. Maybe one of them was. Maybe it could lead me to someone who knew what the others meant.
I grabbed my phone. The screen lit up.
No signal.
Of course.
I walked toward the window, hoping for even one bar, but the screen remained stubbornly blank. I grabbed Kai’s phone from the table and checked that too.
Same. No signal.
I plugged both phones into their chargers and waited, but nothing changed.
Maybe it was the weather. A problem with the cell tower. Some temporary outage.
A cough came from the living room.
I froze.
Another.
My head snapped toward the doorway.
Kai.
I dropped the phone onto the table and ran, dabbing at the tears threatening to spill from my eyes. It was overwhelming to see him finally move.
“Let me help you up.”
I moved toward him immediately, slipping an arm behind his back and helping him sit upright. My fingers went straight to his neck. Then I reached for his wrist and checked it again, just to be sure.
Pulse. Strong enough. Much better. I’d take that as a win.
“Can I have some water?”
I reached for the glass I’d kept beside the sofa and handed it to him.
I’d replaced it every few hours while he slept, partly because I wanted him to have water if he woke up, but mostly because it gave me something to do.
Something that made me feel as though I was taking care of him rather than simply sitting there waiting for him to die.
I watched his Adam’s apple move as he swallowed. Once. Twice. It was the most beautiful thing I’d seen in days.
Life could be so simple.
Someone breathing. Someone drinking water. Someone swallowing. Proof that they were still here.
“How long have I been asleep?”
I paused. Time had a strange way of disappearing when you were trapped inside a windowless apartment, especially when you hadn’t been sleeping properly to begin with. I thought about it before answering.
“Three days.”
His eyes widened. “Three days?”
I nodded. “You’ve lost a lot of blood.”
“Oh.” He coughed lightly. “I hadn’t noticed.”
A small smile crept across my face. “I take it you’re feeling better now that you’re able to joke.”
He coughed again. “No. I really didn’t notice the blood.”
I stared at him, then laughed softly. Unless he’d somehow grown eyes on the back of his head, there was no way he could have known how much blood he’d lost.
“I’m glad you’re better.”
Before I could think better of it, I leaned forward and hugged him. The moment my arms went around him, I regretted it.
His arms came around me, careful at first, then tighter. Our bodies fitted together with an ease that felt horribly familiar, like two missing pieces that had always known where they belonged.
It was cliché. It was dangerous. And I didn’t want to think about what it meant.
“Thank you for saving my life,” he whispered against my ear.
His voice was low. Too close, too intimate. His body heat seeped through me, and the vibration of his voice travelled straight through my skull. My eyes burned.
I couldn’t afford to feel this.
Not now.
Not for him.
Not again.
I pulled away and moved to the armchair opposite him, putting as much distance between us as the room allowed. “It was…” I searched for the right words. “The right thing to do.”
His expression dropped slightly. “Next time,” he murmured, “perhaps do it with some painkillers.”
“We didn’t have any.” My answer came sharper than I intended. “You’re lucky we had enough supplies to keep you alive.”
He looked at me, and I folded my arms. “Besides, I didn’t realise your pain tolerance was so low.”
The clever comeback I’d been so proud of inside my head suddenly sounded cruel once it was out in the room. I’d been the one putting the needle through his skin. Forty-seven times.
He took another sip of water, quietly and defeated. I hated that expression on him.
“Any news from Dave? Or Squirrel”
“No.” I paused. “I haven’t been able to contact anyone since we got here.”
His expression changed. “Why?”
The single word was short and sharp.
“We lost contact with the outside world.”
He straightened too quickly, then immediately winced and sank back against the sofa, closing his eyes.
I leaned forward. “Are you okay?”