Slinging one of Zizi’s arms over his shoulder, the ponytailed Exorcist got Zizi to his feet. He wasn’t bothering to be gentle or careful. Zizi said nothing, allowing himself to be led to one of the cars.
“Get in.” The blond Exorcist nudged Yiran toward another vehicle.
“Where are you taking us?” Yiran demanded.
She shoved him into the back seat in reply, then motioned Rui to the third SUV.
“Why are you separating us?” Rui said as she got into the car.
The young woman surprised Rui by answering, “We need to question you.”
Of course. The three of them had to be questioned to see if their stories matched up.
“You’ll heal my friend, right?”
“Sure.”
The answer didn’t inspire confidence, but there was nothing Rui coulddo. She wondered what other unwanted surprises the night might have in store.
The door slammed shut. The divider between the back seat and the front seats rolled up. Something misted onto her face.
“What was that?” She coughed and waved the air. “Hello? Hey!”
When no one answered, she banged on the plastic divider. But quickly, she felt her limbs relaxing. It was getting hard to stay awake. She heard the hiss of the mist again and held her breath as best as she could.
But soon, everything went dark.
37
Yiran
The door creaked open.
Yiran raised his head from the cold metal table. Whatever drug they’d sprayed on him to knock him unconscious had lost its effect. He had woken alone, sitting in muted darkness with his thoughts. They weren’t pleasant ones.
Yuki’s sad smile kept appearing in his mind. The Hybrid’s revelations about an impending new world order, the blue flames that ascended erratically from Rui... Ever since magic entered his life, it’d felt like he’d been treading water in the deep end of the pool, his feet unable to find solid ground.
The lights flickered on.
Yiran rubbed his eyes. A small square room. Unnaturally bright walls and ceiling. Another chair across the table from him. Empty.
A tired-looking Ash walked in. His clothes were caked with dirt and dried blood.
Yiran rose to his feet. “Where are we? What’s going on? Where are Rui and Zizi?”
“Sit down.”
Reluctantly, Yiran obeyed.
“Your friends are fine.”
Ash stripped off his coat and torn shirt and unbuckled his holster, laying his pistols on the table before sitting down. An old scar ran down his side from the top of his ribs to his hip bone, long healed but vicious looking. A newer scar, curved like a crescent moon, joined it across his chest. It was fresh and pink, recently worked on by a healer.
Yiran had never seen that second scar before. His voice was softer when he said, “Are you all right?”
Ash sank his head into his palms, then scrubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. “We lost three of our own tonight.”
“I’m sorry.” Yiran didn’t know what else to say. He knew there was always a risk of casualties during a Night Hunt. But his eyes had glazed over the statistics that popped up in the news off and on, desensitized and indifferent. They were just that, numbers without faces or names. But it hit him now that they were numbers with families and friends, with hopes and dreams.
