She spits at him. “Do it yourself,coward.”
Her words strike him like a slap. He flinches, raising his sword high. The veil of glittering beads sways, and she sees his face. A face so familiar it feels like she’s known him through lifetimes.
She sees his anger, his pain. His regret.
She sees the tears in his eyes and thinks,I did not mean to abandon you, Xiao Ran.
There is a whistling sound, and the blade comes down.
Rui collapsed onto the ground. She had seen her past life, reclaimed the memories she was never meant to have. Recognized the face of her killer: a friend turned executioner in her past life,Burning Flame.
A friend turned stranger inthislife, Song Yiran.
49
Yiran
Yiran didn’t know why his father had driven them to the entertainment district in the city. It was still hours until dusk, and the pubs and clubs were shut. He got out of the car, frowning at the karaoke lounge across the street from where they had parked. Surely, Song Liming wasn’t planning on celebrating their family reunion with a father-and-son duet?
His father walked in the opposite direction. As Yiran followed, a small voice of doubt whispered in his ear.What in the world are you doing?
Was hejoiningthe Hybrids?
You’re here because he can help you, Yiran told himself, pushing his uncertainties aside. His father was the only one in his family who had been honest with him. The only one who cared about his condition. Still, when he’d mentioned the forbidden technique L had told him about, his father had been cryptic.
“Patience,” his father had said. “I have a theory I’m exploring.”
It was, frankly, annoying. Yiran wasn’t atheoryor a test case, he was a living, breathing human being. But if his father could fix him, then patience it was.
His father stopped outside a seedy-looking dive bar. The sign on the door said it was closed, but his father knocked on it in an irregular pattern. A code?
The door creaked open, and his father walked in.
All eyes went to him the moment Yiran entered.
Fear was his natural reaction when he saw that the eyes belonged to Hybrids. But school had taught Yiran that weakness could be detected easily. He squared his shoulders, casting a nonchalant glance around the room as if he belonged here.
Maybe the old adage was true: the safest place to hide was in plain sight.Compared to the original Revenants, the yinqi of a Hybrid was more difficult to sense. What better place to take cover than among the spiritual energy of normies. Yiran came to another realization as he remembered his encounter with the drunk bigot from the karaoke bar. The man had left with a mysterious woman whom Rui later accused of being a Hybrid. On the weekends when there wasn’t a full moon or a curfew, the clubs and bars here were often full of inebriated people. Ripe hunting grounds for a Hybrid.
There were three of them in front of him. A burly man who looked like he had a mean punch was polishing some glasses by the bar while two women lounged around a table. They had been around that day at the assembly hall. He recognized Green Jacket; she had a striking air about her.
The fourth Hybrid, the one who’d opened the door for them, said, “Didn’t know we were getting a visitor today, boss.” He snatched a palm-sized device from the ledge and waved it across Yiran before putting it back down.
Yiran glanced at his father, but Song Liming made no move to explain. His manner had changed, as if a switch had been flipped. He was a rebel leader with an agenda to accomplish.
“This is Yiran,” he said, removing his coat and hanging it on the rack.
It seemed like all the introduction Yiran was getting. He supposed it was obvious how they were related.
“Where’s Liu?” his father asked.
“Downstairs,” Green Jacket replied, gesturing at the trapdoor.
Yiran heard sounds coming from the basement below. His father and the Hybrid who’d scanned him disappeared down the ladder.
The burly guy at the bar came forward, sticking out a meaty hand. “Name’s Henry. I’ve heard a lot about you from the boss.”
“All good, I hope,” Yiran said, wondering if Henry was only making pleasantries or if his father had a habit of talking about sons he’d only recently acknowledged. Yiran shook Henry’s hand, trying not to wincefrom the man’s tight grip. He didn’t sense that Henry meant to intimidate; he was merely strong. He seemed the friendly sort, which in Yiran’s experience, was rare for a Hybrid.
