“Those are all love stories,” I say.
“Not to your taste?”
“I just wouldn’t expect someone like you to enjoy romantic tales.”
“Someone like me?” he echoes, the corner of his lip ticking up into a grin.
I shrug. “No-nonsense. Tough. Brave.”
Sonam’s grin stretches into a full smile. I am both mesmerized and horrified by it. I don’t understand the skip of my heart or the unease gripping my throat. The only explanation I can muster is that I must be falling ill.
“You think I’m brave?”
“More than most humans, I’ll give you that. But what you have in bravery, you sorely lack in humor.”
“But Wen tells me I’m the funniest man he knows.”
I can’t help but snort. “He’s obviously trying to spare your feelings.”
“Very likely,” he muses, still inspecting my hands. He holds me gently, as though he’s happened upon a baby bird with clipped wings. I… don’t mind it.
“So whydoesa man like you know so many love stories?” I ask, a warm haze blanketing my thoughts.
Sonam shrugs slightly, contemplatively tracing my knuckles with his thumb. “All stories are love stories, if you think about it.”
“What about tales of war?” I challenge skeptically.
“Fought for love of land and family.”
“Tales of murder?”
“Crimes stemmed from passion.”
“And tales of revenge?”
Sonam looks deeply into my eyes. I cannot for the life of me begin to read them. “Revenge is only born when you or your loved ones have been wronged. We seek justice for them—our friends, our family, who we once were—no matter the cost, because—”
“Because we loved them,” I finish quietly.
Wen clears his throat behind us. I withdraw my hand from Sonam’s as if his is made of molten iron.
“What?” the captain and I snap in unison. Sonam’s face is asbright and red as a bride’s wedding dress. Judging by the heat emanating from my cheeks, I’m no better off.
“I wanted a moment with the—with Yue,” Wen corrects himself. “If you don’t mind.”
I squint at him suspiciously. As a matter of fact, I mind a great deal, but for the sake of peace, I give Sonam a tight nod. He walks off and joins Sooah on the other side of the statue garden. Chewing on the inside of my cheek, I wait for Wen to speak.
“I wanted to thank you,” he says, avoiding my gaze.
“What for?” I ask.
He takes a deep breath and shifts his weight from foot to foot. I don’t understand the delay. Wen was the one who wanted to talk. “For saving me,” he answers, speaking so quickly that his words run together. “If it hadn’t been for your quick thinking, I’d probably have been crushed by those walls. You didn’t have to come back for me.”
“I know.”
“Then why did you?”
My mouth opens only to close again, an explanation eluding even me. There’s no logical answer. It would have been so easy to let him die. Yet another casualty of Hell. And one less human to worry about. Fewer moving parts, fewer annoyances—especially where Wen is concerned.
