But Hina didn’t know him.
She had no idea that Lee was more of a demon than Sen because Sen killed for honor and Lee killed for nothing at all.
The light caught Hina’s tears as she waited for his answer, for love that would never come. That was what she got for trying to love someone like Lee Turner.
Slowly, he shook his head. “I’m sorry, Hina,” he said quietly.
“Please, Lee,” Hina said. “I only want you to be safe.”
“Hina, you need to leave,” Lee said.
She looked back at him pleadingly for a moment, then hershoulders drooped. She stormed past Lee’s father, who stepped away like she was made of fire. The sounds of her drawers opening and closing rattled the house.
Lee looked to his father, who seemed more embarrassed than upset. But this was how it had always been—the women were never meant to stay forever.
“I’m so sorry about that,” Lee’s father said, bowing to Sen. “Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine,” Sen said, shaking her head quickly. “Really, it’s not a problem.”
Hina stomped down the hallway and the three of them tensed as her footsteps grew louder, but she stormed past the kitchen. The front door slammed, and Hina was gone.
Something heavy settled in Lee’s chest, like an anchor cast into a dark sea.
I want to tell you a ghost story, Lee thought, imagining a world in which the dinner had gone differently.
Hina smiled and nodded.I love ghost stories, she said.
Lee ladled another spoonful of stew into his bowl, because in this life, he could taste the food.
Once, a man found the ghost of a samurai hiding in his closet, he said.She was scarier thanOkiku, scarier than any of the ghost stories the man had heard before, and he had heard thousands. She carved a hole in him, right where his heart should have been, but there was nothing there. One day she disappeared, and even though she hadn’t killed him, she’d made him into a ghost as well—the Hollow Man, who the wind could blow through like an abandoned house with all the doors left open. And just like a house, he began to rot.
Lee thought Hina would have liked that story. He watched through the window as her car drove down the long and winding driveway, headlights disappearing as she escaped the cage of sword ferns.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Sen
On the day her father left for the rebellion, Sen was supposed to stay home.
Instead, she rose before the sun to sharpen her sword. She packed a bag of fruit and socks, then placed her winter coat on top of it. She said goodbye to her father at the door beside her brothers, who cried and hugged his legs. Then, once he had walked far enough from the house that Mother wouldn’t be able to hear his voice, Sen grabbed her bag and raced after him.
He walked slowly in his military dress, which he hadn’t worn in over a decade—not since the samurai were abolished. Every inch of him was covered in polished metal, his chest plate decorated with blue fabric and the gold insignia of the Shimazu clan. His footsteps made the earth tremble and left deep indents in the ground.
“Chichiue!” she called, hurrying up to him.
Her father froze. He looked at Sen—in her training robes, no armor to speak of, nothing but his used sword in her hand and worn sandals on her feet.
Sen stood before him, panting. “I’m coming with you,” she said.
He didn’t even dignify her protest with a response. He turned around and kept walking.
Sen walked beside him.
“Chichiue,” she said again, grabbing his arm. He tried to shrug her off, but she tugged harder. “I want to help.”
“You can’t help me,” her father said.
Sen clenched her teeth, then gave up on trying to pull her father and instead ran in front of him, blocking his path. He narrowed his eyes.
