The wind rattled against the walls, throwing open one ofthe living room windows. Lee hurried across the room to shut it. Beyond the yard, the sky was somber gray, rain prickling his face in startlingly cold drops. The sea had drawn so far away that from the window, it was as if it didn’t exist at all, that there was nothing but white sand until the horizon.
Lee shut the window and locked it.
He sat back down and reached for a serving spoon, but when he looked up, he was no longer staring at Hina.
Instead, a Japanese man sat across from him at the table. His face was glossy with scars, his eyes narrowed, his facial hair prickly gray and white on his chin. It was the same man who had come into Lee’s bedroom last night.
Lee lurched back with a startled sound, knocking over his water glass.
“Everything all right, Lee?” his father said.
Lee blinked hard, but he was back in his own home, his own family staring at him strangely.
“Yes,” Lee said, righting his glass and avoiding everyone’s questioning gazes. “Sorry.”
He mopped up the puddle on the table, then folded up the dishrag with exquisite carefulness and set it on the counter. He returned to his chair and sat on it like it was made of thin glass, afraid that any sharp movement would cast him back to whatever world he’d just seen.
The overhead light flickered. Lee squinted up at the hanging lamp, which was swaying slightly from the breeze coming in from the kitchen window. Darkness fell for a breath too long over the table, and when light spilled across the kitchen once again, Lee was in another world.
He was kneeling at a low table, before a man with a sword clutched in his lap, his wife in a pale pink kimono beside him, two young boys on either side. The tatami mats were brightgreen, but the walls were smoke-stained, the air smelled of charcoal, and the darkness beyond the windows felt heavier, as if crushing the house into itself.
The only constant in both worlds was Sen, who stared at her lap in shame.
“Who are you, really?” the man across from Lee said, his grip tightening on his katana.
“Wait,” Lee said, leaning back, his pulse thundering in his ears.
But the man unsheathed his blade, the clean metallic sound of Hina sharpening knives, the reverberation of pure metal through the empty space. This man had Sen’s molten black eyes. He raised his blade, just missing the low ceiling overhead because in this world, they sat on the floor instead of on chairs. He tightened his grip, then slashed down.
A blade flashed, and the bright light overhead returned, and Lee realized too late that it was not Sen’s father leaning over the table, but Hina.
Hina had picked up one of her freshly sharpened knives and lunged across the table at Sen, who was still staring at her lap.
Lee reached for Hina’s arm, but he was too slow. Sen looked up right as Hina lunged, her hands twitching for her blade, but she had none. She hadn’t brought her sword with her.
Lee imagined what would happen next.
He tasted blood on his lips, the warm spray that would burst from Sen’s throat, the stain that would bloom across the walls, the floor. The tatami mats would drink it up and he would never be able to wash it out, not like James.
But Sen’s eyes lit up and she moved easily to the side. Hina crashed over the table, soup spilling onto the floor, dishes clattering, silverware flying in every direction. She lunged again, but Sen was ready this time and twisted Hina’s wrist behind her back, forcing her to drop the knife.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Lee’s father shouted, rounding the table and seizing Hina. Sen backed up, and Lee rushed to her side, placing himself between Sen and Hina. Not because he could defend her, but because he knew Hina wouldn’t hurt him. He could feel Sen’s fluttering heartbeat against his back.
“Go back to where you came from!” Hina said, jerking a finger at Sen. “You’re going to hurt Lee! You’ll ruin everything!”
Lee tensed, pressing back harder against Sen as Hina struggled to her feet.
“You’ve lost it,” Lee’s father said to Hina, his eyes shadowed, expression pinched. “You need to leave. Right now.”
“Of course you don’t care!” Hina said, shoving Lee’s father against the counter. She was so much smaller than him, but he flinched back anyway, his eyes wide.
“You never even try to take care of him!” Hina said. “If you won’t look out for him, I will!”
She turned to Lee, her eyes wet. “Please, Lee, trust me. I only want to keep you safe.”
Lee swallowed, though his throat felt full of rocks. He looked between Hina and Sen.
In some ways, Hina wasn’t wrong. Sen had killed a man in front of him—he’d tasted the man’s blood. Sen was a warrior and a murderer. She was no innocent spirit who had been cast into his world through sheer misfortune.
