(ty for reading :D, i appreciate you very much. the little star is happy to see you, too)

(EDITED)
(Note to readers: Some chapters ahead may not be fixed to be in line with the new edits)

[Poppy corvus avaldi university - ghostsearch.net]
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[Opal "Poppy" Wilder Deemed Missing - The New York Times - nytimes.com]
[Opal wilder avaldi university - ghostsearch.net]
[Avaldi University's Corvus Remains Silent on Fellow Member's Disappearance and Whereabouts - CNN - cnn.com]
[Stray From the Flock - Opal "Poppy" Wilder of AU Corvus Seen Attacked - USA Today - usatoday.com]
[Daughter of Hearth Technology Brutally Attacked on Avaldi University Campus - Fox Sports - foxsports.com}
[Hearth Technology - ghostsearch.net]

[Hearth Technology Inc. - t275172023.ghost]
[Opal Wilder - t295172023.ghost]
[Hearth Technology - Hierarchy and Affiliates - t455182022.ghost]
[OPA Group - t305172022.ghost]
[OPA Group - Companies and Affiliates - t605172023.ghost]
[Wang Association and Partners - t355172023.ghost]
[Janchi Group - s285182022.ghost]
[Janchi Group Chaebol and Conglomerate affiliates - s205182022.ghost]

[Opal Wilder avaldi incident - y9995172632.ghost]
[Ghost Files & Cases - Open]
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[Opal Wilder January 18 Avaldi University Corvidae]
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[Kane king wang association and partners - ghostsearch.net]
[Wang Association - Wikipedia - en.wikipedia.org]
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[Kane King - tr888840423.ghost]
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[News Articles]
["Up and Coming Racing Sensation, Kane King, Speaks Out About Janchi Group" - www.thedailybeast.com]
["King of the Playground" - www.thewallstreetjournal.com]
["Wilder Sophomore Successor, Kane King, Sparks Lowest Sponsorships of Corvus History" - www.espn.com]
["Janchi Family - A Feast for Greed Without A King" - www.vanityfair.com]
["The Exiled King - Why Janchi and Kane King Shouldn't Be in the Same Conversation" - www.forbes.com]
["Why Young Square Racer, Kane King, Will Not Be The Janchi Heir" - www.thestreet.com
["Leash the Beast—Kane King runs into trouble at Avaldi party - www.vulture.com]
["Corvus Fans Bring Up Kane King's Rocky Reputation In Protest of Captain Position - www.squarescoop.com]
["Puppy Playing Predator—why Kane King is not the next captain of Corvus - ]

[Business Affiliates]
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[Janchi Group - TERMINATED - 7 years ago
RIYU Group - TERMINATED - 6 years ago]

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__________________________

Opal "Poppy" Wilder was a Class II Fahrhaus Beta, St. Sainsbury Academy graduate from the upper eastside, a concentrated square of Drachmann and Huang royalty, who was recruited to Avaldi University as a front port sub with intent of earning a bachelor of science in anthropology. She rose the ranks faster than any racer in Avaldi history and became the first ever sophomore captain of Corvus's racing team, as well as the first female sophomore captain in Division I square racing history, and held onto the position through to her senior year after winning Red Diamond's largest sum prize in two decades.

Wilder was a direct descendant of Hearth Technology, a multi-million dollar German technology company that produced a variety of computer hardware, and was an integral part of the behind the scenes of a hundred other technology companies around the world. Unknown to anyone who wasn't directly chained to the company or its owners, the company was not just in business with Janchi, but complicit to it.

Wang Association was a private arm of Janchi Group that was only known of and never explained. If anyone had heard of it, they assumed it to be a money laundering scheme or nothing at all. Any other theory was shut down by private legal cases before it could be materialized.

On the first week of senior winter quarter in Avaldi, an unidentified group came onto campus. CCTV was found to only capture a brief moment of action in which one made a move of attack against Poppy and an unknown second party. The footage was cut, wiped, and subsequently buried before anyone could find out who. No one would say who found her, or how they found her. An accident, a tragedy, and nothing more.

Hearth's exports plummeted, imports cutting off one by one, until suddenly, the company ultimately filed for bankruptcy within a month. Eventually, Hearth Technology wasn't anything but a memory, and all its respective buyers moved onto the next best thing. The company issued an official statement of discontinuation and disbandment, the CEOs retiring for good.

Wang was under its buyers.

In the subsequent summer, Janchi's CEOs Sangcheol Wang and Marie Wang stepped down to hand off the company to Marie's sister, Chaemin Wang. A fact unbeknownst to the public, whose reason was never revealed.

In the following fall quarter, Kane King took Wilder's place as Corvus's new captain. For the entire quarter, Corvus's games reached an all-time low in sponsors, ticket sales, and viewership. But, an all-time high in press attention.

By the beginning of spring quarter, Corvus had maintained a nearly impossible victory streak without a loss in sight. By the time they won Red Diamond, their sponsorships were higher than any other NCAA racing team, amassing a groundbreaking over one hundred fifty million dollars in victories alone. More than any of Corvus's years prior.

Avaldi, Corvus, and the NCAA never said a word about Wilder thereafter.

But that's their side. Let's talk about the other.

Elias Yun was a Class I Drachmann Alpha, son of Class I Drachmann Alpha, Byungho Yun, and Class III Drachmann Omega, Alice Nam. Yun was the sole owner of RIYU Group, a long-standing chaebol that had competed against the original Drachmann bloodline for decades. Despite both families constantly going head to head in who was more of a money-mongering, cold-hearted, life-leaching, soul-sucking, capitalistic headcase, they actually did very little business together besides co-owning half of America's Dunkin' Donuts. No one really knew why.

Elias graduated Yongsan International School of Seoul a year early and enrolled in Seoul National University as an economics major not much later. Throughout that period, he raced on the varsity team for his school and was recruited into the official team at Seoul, where he then won East Asia's Diamond Prix Championships. It earned him Asia's fame, American attention, magazine covers, new sponsorships, and a place as the second youngest racer on the South Korean Olympic team. Subsequently, at eighteen and a half, he and his team won Olympic silver.

How cute.

My brother and I, being of different ranks, were identical in the same way evolved Pokémon were identical between their stages; you knew the big picture was the same, but the parallel fell apart in the details. It might've been the only thing that saved me from tracing my brother back to me. We shared the same face—there's not enough ughs in the world for that—and we shared the same coloring, but the guy had a foot on me, his natural hair, and millions of more dollars to look every bit the winner I wasn't. That and he had a better jawline. That fucker.

Mercy's job had sentenced me to fitful sleep, which I entertained for most of the early morning before deciding I wasn't prepared to face Corvus with an explanation and slipped out to the Splinter instead. There was a haven in those who had lived too long to give a shit about any of your measly, mortal crises.

Between the banquet, Poppy, and Mercy's atomic bomb of a plot revealed to me the night prior—and the fact I likely needed a blood transfusion—it was a haven I was happy to escape to. Have faith! It doesn't last.

"Oh," Li muttered upon spotting me in the doorway. She set her bowl of rice and egg down, then pointed at me. "What kind of fuckery did you get yourself into this time?"

I looked down at myself. I'd skipped morning practice, and planned to forego my classes for the day on top of it. Lycans healed fast, but not that fast. I'd need another week at least just for my ribs to find their place in my body again.

I shrugged, smiled, but the ache turned it into a grimace. "Nothing fun," I admitted. "You got any coffee?"

Jeremy pushed past her, blue hair illegal and fingers sticky. "Do I hear an echo in this—oh, good God, did someone run you over?"

"No coffee," Li said. "We don't give caffeine to corpses."

"Do you give breakfast bars?" I sighed, dragging my limbs to the counter.

Jeremy's hands remained aloft between us. He looked from me to Li and back again. "It's broken," he told her, pointing at me.

"It's speaking just fine."

"It's asking for breakfast bars," Tri said from behind.

She brushed past both of them, her face strangely calm as she stared at me. She raised a brow, her fingers tickling the air to bring a fresh mug of steaming black coffee towards me and an equally-appetizing breakfast bar from the end of the aisle. They plopped down before me.

I said, "It's very grateful."

Tri brushed my hair back. "You look awful, dear."

I shrugged. "I slipped."

"Slipped," Li repeated.

"Bad slip."

"Bad slip?" Jeremy wheezed.

"Steep hill," I provided. "What do lycans wear to banquets?"

Li opened her mouth, closed it, then shook her head. "You look like roadkill."

"What does roadkill wear to banquets then?"

"Echo." Tri took my bandaged hand. "What on earth are you doing?"

The witches were likely the most viable option to tell, as they had seen enough and heard enough that it would likely not be of any use to them to tell anyone, or to let it interfere with interactions with me. But a risk was a risk was a risk. I was too tired to take any more.

"Nothing you wanna know about," I said. I tore open the breakfast bar and lifted the mug. "Thanks."

Li raised a brow. "Does your crow crew know you're here?"

"Nope. And best to keep it like that," I promised.

"Ah, so you're escaping," Jeremy concluded.

"I'm visiting," I corrected. "You complained just the other day I didn't visit enough, what now? I figure I can avoid them until dinner, then I'll just sleep through their fits. It's foolproof."

"Is it?" Li questioned.

"Is it?" Jeremy questioned.

"It isn't," Tri affirmed.

"I've lasted this long," I promised, which wasn't very long at all, but details. "It's not like they're gonna hunt me down and trap me to demand some sort of answer."

The clink of the door behind me sent my ears perking. Jeremy said, "But aren't they?"

I turned around.

Kane stood in the doorway, as he had the day before, uninvited and out of place, but looking wholly invited and wholly in place all the same. Because peace was never an option.

I closed my eyes and slumped forward. "Let me perish," I muttered.

"Not if I have to stop seeing that face," Jeremy whispered, then, "Why, hello."

"You sellout."

"Roadkill."

"That's low."

"Not as low as running away from your problems."

"It's efficient," I promised.

"How's that working out for you?" Li asked.

"You're all terrible," I snapped. I pushed myself from the counter, and got to my feet. I faced Kane.

His eyes found me. He paused. There was something akin to shock on his face, freezing his features where they were in the sickly blue morning light, chilling his black eyes. Then it was something a little more like anger. To my misfortune. Oh, to catch a goddamn break.

Li clasped her hands together. "Echo was just stopping by for some chatting," she assured. "He's all yours. Should be getting back to school anyway, hm? Homework don't do itself. We send some bars to go with you."

"That means godspeed," Jeremy told me.

"Yeah, I got that," I snapped.

The witches scurried under the beads—like cowards—and left me alone to face Kane, nothing but the Splinter's shadows and my own, depleting self-preservation left to hold me up against him.

I took in a breath and held up my hands. "It's not like that."

Kane blinked. He said, "You skipped practice."

I hesitated. "Was...that today?"

"You skipped practice, you went missing, you have no phone, you smell like blood," Kane finished, and narrowed his eyes until they were thin, black needles, not poised to kill, but angled to tear. "What's it like?"

The panic was a shot of venom in my arteries. I swallowed, but my glands were filled with bitter liquid. I scraped for an answer. It was too early to be a dirty liar. It was too early to be a good one.

"I'm sorry," I settled on. "I forgot, about practice. I'll be there tonight," I said. "You didn't have to track me down."

"Echo."

I headed for the door. "I don't know why you came here," I snapped, "but you should go."

"Echo."

"Leave, Kane."

"Not without you."

"You shouldn't have come."

Kane grasped my wrist to stop me from getting past.

My hiss was automatic and out through my teeth before I could stop it. We both recoiled back from each other. I clutched my wrist to my chest, the burn singing my nerves as it traveled through my limbs. Kane had gone silent, his black eyes wide.

We stood suspended between each other. I inhaled to quell the sting. I gritted my teeth.

"You should go," I said.

I headed down the street. Ante meridiem indigo spotlighted the asphalt in fragments, finding the streets' gaps filled with shards of bottle green glass or the shadows of tree roots conquering the haphazardly-laid sidewalks. It was jagged and unlivable. It was familiar.

"Echo," Kane called. He jogged to catch up to me. "Hold on."

"I won't skip practice, you don't have to hound me about it."

"That's not what—"

"Go home."

"Just, hold on." Kane put an arm up in front of me, not touching me, but keeping close enough his body threatened to.

I held. I sighed, drummed my fingers against my pockets. I waited for the lecture, or the reprimand, maybe both combined in one, gut-splitting blow. The morning had not even gone, and I'd already dug myself a six-feet-deep hole. If I wasn't going to race before, I was a guaranteed bench decoration now.

Kane pushed his fingers through his short black bangs. He looked frustrated, although at what I couldn't tell. It was in my best interest not to know.

He jutted his chin to a corner. "Come on," he murmured. "Let's get real breakfast."

I blinked. "I don't want—"

"I'll buy," he said. "Where's good?"

I didn't know if saving myself meant denying or agreeing. In a way, both promised a slow death.

I pursed my lips tight. I thought of Poppy.

"You like pancakes?" I asked.

The economics of good eats didn't depend on quality or price alone, but more so a bang-for-your-buck mentality. Six dollar silver dollars were the best the Splinter could muster up to offer.

The restaurant's name was unknown to me, scrawled in a foreign tongue that neither the workers nor any passerby bothered to translate for me. They allegedly spoke fluent English, but they couldn't let any of us know that or they'd have to deal with questions and custom orders. It left service dependent on pointing and cash. The werewolf who ran it knew me by my vomitous hair, and I by her vomitous screech.

"Ah!" she screamed from the little order window, a carved out rectangle in the plaster wall. She gestured at the faded photo of the silver dollar pancakes and then at me. "Eh? Okay!"

I held up two fingers.

"Ugh. Ah, okay," she said.

"Okay," I agreed.

Kane raised a brow, but didn't ask. I glanced down at his bubblegum pink high tops and said, "How many shoes do you own?"

Kane glanced at me. He turned on his heel and stopped below the awning, withdrawing a cigarette in the same fluid move. I held out my hand. He dropped a Lucky Strike in my palm and said, "Enough."

"Do you like pancakes?"

"I'm an American citizen," he said, lighting the end of the stick. "Of course I like pancakes."

I snagged his to light the end of mine. I blew out a breath of acrid, pungent air. "Of course."

We maintained a civil enough silence until the two boxes of pancakes were done. I grabbed them from the window and slinked around a corner. Kane followed after a moment, frowning. He squinted in the shadowed alley.

"Are there tables here?" he asked.

I gestured around the empty alley. "Obviously not." I sat down against the concrete wall, spine pressed to the icy stone. "To eat these on a table would ruin the taste. Too practical."

"I don't think those correlate."

"You want your pancakes or not? You paid for them."

Kane sat down across from me. The alley was a spitting image of its mother, too narrow for comfort and too tall to see the end. His bright shoes settled beside mine. I pushed his box to him. He picked it up, then gave a sharp, succinct laugh, his face strangely amused. I said, "Don't laugh, they're supposed to be tiny."

He shook his head. He left the box propped on his legs. "Reminds me of high school," he admitted.

"Alleys and breakfast?" I asked.

"Cigarettes and pancakes," he corrected.

"Regale me."

He kept the cigarette between his fingers to stab the pancake with his fork. He shrugged, then gestured at me. "I'd rather talk about this."

I pursed my lips. "Got one of those faces," I quipped, and let out a heavy breath that made my spine ache, made my thoracic vertebrae rattle. "I'll be back at practice. You don't need to worry."

"That's not what I asked," he repeated. His voice was calmer though, its edges gone. "What happened?"

I chewed my lip. "Is that part of the pamphlet?"

"To know why one of us disappears only to show up again beaten and bruised, sure, add it in," he snapped. "Are you gonna answer me?"

"Nothing," I said. "Why'd you show up here just to interrogate me? What's with you and that first rule?"

Kane stared. He held the cigarette in ring-adorned fingers. "Falling doesn't look like that. So who did it?"

"How would you know?" I shook my head. "I told you I fell."

"Stop lying."

"What does it change if I tell you?" I snapped. "It's over."

"Who did it?"

"Hillside," I said, and stuffed a pancake in my mouth. "Let's not have this conversation."

Kane looked wholly unhappy to be rejected once again, but I would much rather suffer the wrath of his annoyance than whatever would come if he knew even an inkling of what happened the night before. I inhaled ash and tobacco.

Kane said, "You're racing next week."

Everything halted, breath, blood, time, light. The Splinter split.

My gaze shot to his. "I'm what?"

"Not this match, but the Bruins next week," he explained. He tore up his pancakes into chunks and pieces. "Coach thinks you're ready. You'll race in the second half with the rest of us. That's what I came here to tell you because the spring banquet is the Sunday after and Zahir wants to make sure you have something to wear before he goes to buy his stuff tonight."

The words were more akin to the buzz of cicadas in my ear. I didn't know if I the air bubbles in my lungs were excitement or fear. I was going to race. I was going to race with Corvus.

I couldn't help myself. "Do you?"

Kane closed the now-empty box. He blew smoke at me and said, "Do I what?"

"Think I'm ready."

He seemed surprised I asked. His black eyes considered me.

"Do you?" he returned. "Think you're ready."

"No," I admitted.

"Why not?"

"You're Corvus," I said plainly.

"And?" Kane got to his feet and offered me his hand. "So are you."

Cruel dreams. Hollow promises. My heart sat crushed between my molars.

I took his hand and let him carefully haul me to my feet. He headed for the open street, then hesitated for a moment. He said, "You should see Ramos."

I shook my head. "I'll be okay."

"Are you?" he asked. "Okay, that is."

It was such an unexpected question from an unexpected person that the tsunami over me only tripled from it. I steadied myself on the uneven concrete.

"Yes," I lied. "I'm okay."

We headed down the street in silence.

I counted the days down.

_______________________

Corvus finding out had gone about as smoothly as you can imagine.

Kane had avoided saying much to me, and clearly hadn't said anything to anyone else about my state. The train ride back to the Talon was fitfully quiet, but his silence was soon difficult to notice over everyone else's lack thereof.

I made it all the way to the kitchen, ten minutes before we were to report to the Corvidae for noon conditioning.Zoe dropped her half-eaten apple upon seeing me, mouth going with it to the ground.

"Echo?" she breathed.

I waved a bandaged hand to her and the rest of Corvus, equally stunned as they watched me approach. "Guilty." I frowned at them. "Don't you all have your own kitchen?"

"Why do you look like you got into a fist fight with a fucking werewolf?" Rosalie gaped from behind Zoe. She bristled. "Did you?"

"Werewolves are animals," I said with a flick of my wrist. "Give me some credit."

"Bloody hell, what—where were you? Dear God." Zoe's hands hovered over my arms, not daring to touch.

Wynter sprung to me. "I'll kill them," she snapped. "Who the hell did it?"

"Jesus Christ, cobayo," Diego said. "You look awful. What in the hell happened?" He turned his head to Kane. "Where the hell were you?"

"Breakfast," he replied.

"With what? Brass knuckles?" Wynter exclaimed. She gestured at me. "Echo."

Meredith and Kenzo were decidedly quiet in the corner, their eyes watching me with something half-shocked and half-intrigued. Meredith glanced at Kane, then at me. She said calmly, "Are you all right, Echo?"

I shrugged. I said, "I slipped."

They stared at me. Diego shook his head, laughed once, then gaped. "You slipped," he repeated. At my nod, he said, "Tell us who. We'll haul them here if we have to."

"Haul a hill?" I asked.

"A hill," they repeated, incredulous.

"Steep hill," I said.

They began to shout amongst themselves. Meredith approached me, hair pulled back to leave nothing but a few strands of fire around her pale face. She stopped in front of me, face pulled at the seams with something between concern and, strangely, understanding. Meredith let her hands rest on my shoulders.

"Tell us if you're not okay," she said.

I blinked. "It's...got nothing to do with you."

"Bullshit," Diego interrupted. "You look like you got run over! Atropellado."

"It's got nothing to do with you," I said. "So, don't worry about it."

They all stared at me. Zoe frowned, confused. "We just want to make sure you're all right," she assured.

"And that we can fuck over the bastards," Rosalie muttered. "Let's pour pig's blood on them." Wynter looked intrigued at that.

But not even their chaos, or Mercy's shenanigans, or the burn over my limbs could stop me from replaying Kane's words over and over and over in my head. I couldn't worry about it. Not with the news he'd revealed.

"I can still race," I promised. "And it doesn't involve you. So, don't worry."

"Echo," Zoe said, eyes wide.

I looked to Kane and Kenzo for some kind of backup. Kenzo's form came in turning to grab his bag off the couch and head for the door. Kane's was in a dark stare, and a bark of, "Grab your things. We're meeting Zahir there. Track in ten."

"You've got to be kidding," Rosalie scoffed. "King."

"Anyone so much as whispers about it, you can run laps until practice is over," he snapped. "Grab your things. Don't be late."

"King," Diego said, his face pleading.

Kane gave him a look I couldn't understand. "Track. Ten."

And, that was it.

But it's not that part that mattered. Being a hillsider wasn't the issue. Being a Bruin, well.

Let's talk about it.

The University of California, Los Angeles Bruins were thirty second in Division I square racing, not for their lack of sportsmanship, but for their Class II lineup and schoolwide emphasis on mindful innovation through educational means rather than greedy bastardous sport matches in a bloody climb to the treasures up top. (Although, in LA, how far from greed could you really get?) The team had a nose-to-nose nine numbers on their team with decent offense and near-Class-I-level defense. That and their uniforms were pretty.

The UCLA Bruins' square racing team occupied Pasadena's very own Rose Bowl, spanning an inhuman 3.1 miles in circumference and seating nearly 89,000 within its ten acres. It possessed nearly every known obstacle to square racing—with the obvious exception of the cyclone, the tail loop, and the green eye—and offered up nearly 150 possible total points in one lap. The stadium lights were merciless, the scoreboard was colossal, and the screens adorning the walls magnified every one of our faces in cruel, calculated 4K. For every racer shown, the crowd reacted as one, to both ends of good and bad.

That, and the fifteen million dollars riding on tonight's win.

The atmosphere was as comforting as you can believe.

I sat on the bench of the locker room. Omega genes meant most of my injuries had healed, but not enough to save me from suffering more than usual on the track. I'd pay the coveted price of racing in blood. But that was to be expected; you didn't really get anywhere by paying less.

I fiddled with my gloves. Elias sat beside me, his smirk a haunting thing that wrapped its shape around my wrists and clung like rope. I reached up to feel the scar around my collarbone, the callouses on my still-bare fingers. The rumble of the crowd was drowned in my the caverns of my aorta.

"Hey."

I looked up.

Kane stood at the front of the aisle. His helmet was propped against his leg, one glove still in his hand. He raised a brow.

"This isn't the track," he told me.

I sat up. "I know."

He sat down beside me, Elias dissipating like a phantom. When he did, I smelled the faintest air of something metallic, silver, less like blood and more like molten metal. I frowned at Kane.

He didn't seem to see it. "Wae gurae?" he asked. "You look like a lamb waiting to be slaughtered."

It sure as shit felt like it. I wrinkled my nose at the metal scent but said, "Are they gonna say anything about me being a Stirling?"

"Probably," he said.

"The board."

"Everyone signed off on it. The Bruins aren't as brutal as a lot of the other D1 teams, and they're Class I and II. They're a good introduction."

"You're not worried?"

"Are you?"

"If I was, what would you say?"

"Racers do better under pressure," he said. "Your technical training is better now, not so many gaps. Don't have gaps."

"You say it like it's that easy," I muttered.

"You were so eager to race and now you're acting like you're gonna vomit if you get on that track. Why?" he snapped.

I scoffed. I shrugged. "You're champions," I said, because it was just that simple and that complicated.

Kane sighed, sounding exasperated. "So?" he said. "Even champions started at rock bottom." He got to his feet, and faced me. When he did, I watched the black ink on his neck shift under the light, the light glinting off it like there was silver threaded through it. "You're not gonna become one sitting on this bench."

"You're inspirational," I quipped.

"No one worth anything is born a winner," he said, giving me a look. My chest stilled. "Do it yourself." My mother was a shifting ghost, a vestige behind his face. "Get up. Match starts in five."

He walked away.

Whoever won anything—

I grabbed my helmet, and followed him out.

—by taking what they're given?

__________________

"Welcome, racing fans of Los Angeles!" Nathan Roe yelled, earning an echo—don't even—of cheers from the crowd. "I am stoked to see so many of you here tonight to see the match of uptown versus downtown between the UCLA Bruins and Avaldi University's Corvus right here in the Rose Bowl!" More cheers. The nerve. "This is going to be quite a fun match, Corvus with some rising rookies, and the first match between these two teams in nearly three years!"

"Who died and made him chief announcer?" I asked.

"Get used to it," Rosalie assured me. "He's the least of your worries for this match."

"As a reminder to all our racers, this is a good and fair match. All shots, strikes, or maneuvers are permitted except for head shots, equipment tampering of any kind, blocking any racer horizontally, or using gear or bikes as projectiles. You must stay within the white fencing at all times, and any breach of the fencing will end the lap as a lap foul. No drugs, alcohol, or any unauthorized substances are allowed on the track, along with weapons or tools of any kind. If you're found with any of these during the match, you and your team will be immediately disqualified," Nathan recounted. "Now, racers, to the starting line! The match will begin in exactly four minutes."

"I'm done for," I said. "I'm done for and we haven't even started."

"Don't say that," Meredith assured me. "We're gonna kill it tonight. Just focus on the first half, and you'll be more than ready for the second. You succeeded against the Rebels!"

"Oh, sure, I'll kill it," I muttered. "I wasn't even on the track in Vegas."

"Nice knowing you," Kenzo said, brushing past us.

I pointed at Kane. "This is your fault."

"I hear talking. Are we still talking? Why are we still talking?" He turned around, not even sparing me or anyone else a glance, before calling out at Coach. "Four minutes to start, what's the plan?"

"You know, if your voice is the last thing I have to hear before I explode in a ball of bike and flames," I said, "I hope you know I'll be haunting you indefinitely out of spite."

"I let him race, he hates me, I don't let him race, he hates me," Kane said to Meredith. "Who said I was the difficult one?" Diego side-eyed Zahir at that, but kept quiet.

Zoe and Wynter nodded. "He's very spiteful," Zoe said. "It's almost a personality trait."

Wynter scoffed. "It's the foundation."

"I can believe the haunting bit," Rosalie said. "It's not like Heaven's not gonna let you in."

"Oh, like you know anything about Heaven," I said. "If there's an imp missing in the ninth ring, I'd put you up for bets first."

"That's a rich accusation coming from someone who's much more the size of one."

"There's talking," Kane gritted. "Why is there talking?"

"Bless his heart," I said. "He's hearing voices again."

Wynter and Diego snickered at that before Kane snapped darkly, "What's funny?"

"Nothing," they said as I murmured, "You."

Meredith coughed past her laugh and said, "The plan, King?"

I looked up at Kane, who sighed. "Should I retire early?" he said in grumbled Korean. He turned to Edwards, who looked the most unamused of all of us. "The plan?"

"Pawn off every one of you for cash and move to Iceland," she said. "But if you mean the match, then listen up."

The Bruins historically played as nine for both halves, with two front starboards, two port tails, and two center tails supplying extra reinforcement to their line, particularly defense. But the Bruins also possessed a history of obstacle-dependent plays and mild aggression. The strategy was to be exploiting reaction time and let defense surge ahead for their offense, and leave enough gap for offense to rack up points in combination attacks against their defense.

"You are going in on the second half," she said, gesturing at me. "So pay attention until you get out there, because I won't be repeating anything. Now get out of here and win this thing."

Corvus clacked metal knuckles with each other and we waved them down to the track. The crowd began to scream loud, louder, as the start time approached. I dared a look at the scoreboard, and shuddered at the victory's numbers. Black and purple ink drops mixed between royal blue and gold. A crystal lattice, charged to win.

I watched Corvus walk themselves and their bikes to the starting line, glowing on the curved track of concrete. Kane and Zahir were discussing something, Kane's helmet in his hand, and his face displaying something I'd never seen from him before. Zahir furrowed his brow at Kane, then turned to point towards the pit crew. Kane held up his hand, helmet in hand. Ramos and several other crew members approached him, Corvus and Bruins alike glancing between each other.

"What's wrong?" Coach said into her mic.

"There's something wrong with his helmet," Rosalie said. "Said there's a buzz in one of his ears."

Coach's face steeled. "Wait here," she told me, and headed down the stairs to where they stood at the track, Kane's face still taut.

Kane looked between the clock and the crew, allowing them one more second of staring at his helmet before he snatched it away and shouted something at them and Coach. He snapped something at Zahir and Kenzo, before yanking the helmet on and mounting his bike.

I said, "What's wrong?"

"Mic issue," she said. "If he says it's good enough to race with, then he'll race," she said.

That wasn't something to be assured by.

"Racers, ready!

"On your mark!

"Get set!

"Go!"

The secret of steel is in the gaps.

Or more specifically, the lack thereof.

Steel was a melting pot of alloys, anything from iron to chromium to carbon. It wasn't the iron—the atoms were too big—and it wasn't the chromium—too insignificant—that made steel worth its bite. The carbon in between them, now, that made the sword. Less gaps. Less slip-ups. Less breakage. Jewel steel; if diamonds happened upon metal. Down to the science.

Kane wasn't wrong about his issue with gaps, less so about mine. I had knacks for picking up plays, serious peripheral awareness, and being relatively aerodynamic. It was the execution I fell off on. At best, I was ferrite steel and still warm.

The upperclassmen of Corvus: they were jewel steel.

With all of the Rebels' excessive violence and constant card-worthy uppercuts, it was hard to appreciate either side's skill at all when most of it consisted of who could throw a punch faster. But with more conventional racers like the Bruins, who didn't have the best rank but had still gotten there on fairer terms, Corvus's number-one spot practically glowed.

They were pitch black comets compared to the Bruins, racing around the track like no tomorrow. Their attacks were calculated, plotted to a T. Zahir and Kane racked up points without flinching, every tail chasing them swiftly demolished by Kenzo and Rosalie before they even got within a kilometer. Diego and Meredith were moths to lights against the Bruins' fronts, smashing them into tunnel walls, columns, entire log piles. Wynter and Zoe were still amateurs, but even they had climbed at exponential speeds in efforts to keep up with their upperclassmen. By the time the first quarter was up, the Bruins' front starboard and centerback were out until second half.

"Corvus is out for blood tonight, folks!" Nathan laughed just as Kenzo rammed his back wheel into their second starboard tail, McIntyre, to send her reeling. "I think they feel something to prove for tonight's match, and definitely something to win with numbers like these on the line."

"Not the numbers," Zoe groaned.

"They're fucking monsters," Wynter said. "Remind me how we survived last match?"

"Willpower and luck, most likely. Bloody hell, I can already feel the injuries I'm about to get."

I peered at the racers as they sped under us. "Are you sure nothing is wrong with Kane's helmet?" I asked.

Coach and them looked to me. Coach frowned. "Why?" she asked.

I pointed. "He keeps tapping the right side of it."

It was minor, but he'd knocked his glove against the metal above the ear one too many times for it too be coincidental. Even now, as he rounded the corner, he sacrificed a hand just to jostle it.

"King," Coach said into her mic. "If something's wrong with your sound system, stop the game, don't write it off, you got me? We got timeouts for a reason."

"It's nothing," he snapped. "It's a buzz."

"Then quit knocking at it and focus on the damn game!"

Corvus was up by twenty points, but the Bruins began to grow more and more desperate as the minutes went. They slid away from strategy and towards brutality, slashing their hands every which way when Corvus came close.

"No one panic," Diego yelled. "But I'm pretty sure I lost a tooth in that hit, carajo."

"They're getting sloppy to throw you off, don't get nervous on me now," Coach said. "You win this match, then you can pay for a new tooth."

Kane sailed ahead, their port tail, Pilot, on his heels, and weaved into the corridor. I watched as Pilot pushed the nose of his bike into Kane's bike, arm out to grasp him. But Kane looked about around him, as if Pilot wasn't right there at his side.

Pilot's hand grasped Kane by his shoulder. He shoved him forward as the nose of his bike collided deep with his bike. They went flying to the left, knocking into the wall. Kane jutted his arm up and out. His elbow struck Pilot upside the head. Barely five seconds of breathing room let him slide his wheel under Pilot's and send the other racer flying, Kane zipping narrowly around a deadly column. He completed another half mile by the skin of his teeth.

I narrowed my eyes down at the sight. Coach shouted, "I'm gonna call a time-out if you can't be honest with me right now about that helmet."

"I just didn't see him!" King said. "There's ten minutes left, I know what I'm doing."

"You've got another half to play and you think I'm gonna let you—"

"I know what I'm doing. I promise."

I watched Corvus make another lap. I grabbed my helmet, placing it on the railing for me to examine its insides. But Kane's was different, I remembered. Something about the ears and the sound system. I'd never bothered to ask then, but it chewed at me now. What did he need that we didn't?

Baluyot's killing blow to Kane from last match came back in a fevered flash. His unusually easy strike. Kane's utterly nonexistent reaction. The scent of silver was pungent in my nose.

"A close call for King!" Nathan said. "But the points are in Corvus's favor by far with nearly a twenty five point lead. Let's hope they can keep the gap up until second half!"

Kane took a sharp turn, knuckles out, the sparks skidding along the concrete. He yanked his arm back and swung around it to strike his back wheel into their second center tail, Min, to send him sailing face-first into the track wall.

He soared ahead to the log piles, and twenty five points turned to twenty eight.

The theory shot me like a flechette round to my chest.

"He can't see," I said.

The buzzer for halftime ricocheted off through the stadium and ended the first half. Corvus began to make a slow return to the canopy with Ramos at their heels, their helmets in their hands. Kane held his with scrutinizing eyes.

When they got back to the canopy, Ramos opened up a cooler of water and energy drinks, along with oranges and granola bars. Coach faced us. "All right, fuel up, let's talk second half. I want defense at the head of this one for the first half. No excuses for being anything less than aggressive. Take out their second front port, I don't want more competition than necessary."

I grabbed an orange and headed for Kane, who was multitasking between fiddling with his helmet while nodding at Coach. I stood in his peripheral. I held out the orange. He didn't even glance at me.

Kenzo spotted me. He snapped, "King. Hidari."

I had to be wrong, but the pieces lined up too well, too conclusively. The only thing that threatened to obstruct it was the most blatant one: he was a racer, and a good one at that. It was why it stung to my dermis when Kane finally looked to where I stood, and snagged the orange. He said a careful, "Thanks."

I stared at his helmet.

"Yun, are you listening? Because you're on," Coach said. "Gear up. It's your grand debut. Remember, you're just gonna clean up behind them. What are you gonna do?"

I pushed my knuckles into my stomach. My brother and mother stood behind me, crawling under the leather, into my spine, my metacarpals. I inhaled a breath. I smelled metal.

"Clean up," I said.

"And?"

This isn't your world.

But this is your chance.

"Nothing else," I said.

Second half. Here's the part that matters.

"Ready, cobayo?" Diego asked, smacking me on the back.

I looked at the black and purple beast of a bike. The stadium seemed too big, the audience too loud, the gear too stuffy. But I said, "Ready."

Zahir hooked an arm over my neck and smiled through the bruise on his cheek. "Rookie's first race. If you race anything like you've been racing, you're gonna make a hell of an impression."

"A good one," Rosalie reminded pointedly. "No matter what happens, Yun, don't say a word to anyone. Let us handle everything."

One could wish.

I wheeled my bike out for the track. Nathan's voice carried through the tunnel.

"Just to make this match more interesting, Corvus has got one more rookie ready for debut!" Nathan announced, and the crowd erupted into curious inquire. "You're all in for a treat on this one, even I'm on the edge of my seat for this second half to start! In a never-before-seen move, Corvus has recruited Class III Stirling first year, Echo Yun! None other than Kane King's own front port sub."

I walked onto the track.

It took the audience a few moments to register the words, but when they did, the response was immediate.

Some people were courteous enough to cheer. Most talked amongst each other, looking confused or shocked. People began to shout, at me, at Corvus, at each other. It was difficult to tell what was an encouragement and what was a curse, the noise crescendoing beyond even security's control.

I glanced at Zoe. "I've made an impression."

She shook her head. "Just let them watch you race."

I positioned my bike behind Kane's. He glanced at me, at the anarchic crowd. The smell of silver wouldn't leave my nose.

"Tell me I won't die," I said.

Kane took my glove from my hand. He yanked it over my hand, and strapped it tight. "Just race, Echo," he told me. "Just win."

He swung his leg over his bike and pulled his helmet on. The Bruins' eyes watched me, burning holes into my skeleton. I yanked my helmet on tight, and turned the sound on.

"Racers, ready! The match will re-continue in thirty seconds!"

"Cobayo! You hear us?" Diego called.

"Loud and clear," I promised.

"Then you'll listen to us when we tell you not to do something stupid?" Rosalie said.

I paused. "Loud and clear."

"Yun," they said.

"Just let me get through the first ten minutes without puking."

"Ready! On your mark!"

I kicked my bike to life, the engine sparking alive with a pop and buzz. The heat and light of the bike seared into my skin. I clutched the handlebars tight. Just let them watch you race.

"Get set!"

Just win.

"Go!"

We went.

The Bruins weren't fantastic. But compared to me, they might've been demigods.

Kane and Zahir headed the points, driving the force of Corvus like the nose of a rocket, searing off points like cutting through water. Wynter was relegated to cleaning up behind them, while Zoe and Rosalie held off the back defense, and Diego and Meredith hounded the Bruins' fronts. The speed was brutal. The racers, even more so.

"Yun! Find a fucking place to be and quit weaving! You're supposed to be up between King and Wynter!" Rosalie snapped.

"Tell that to the Bruins," I muttered.

I swerved around Pilot as he swerved for me. I ducked under a low hanger, sparks flaring around the metal. I cut a line about a pillar. My wheels narrowly escaped being cut in half by a pole. Breath was thin, too difficult to find while trying to escape the Bruins, keep up with Corvus, and keep my head attached to my body in between it.

"Yun looks like he's struggling to keep up with his team on the track," Nathan observed. "Even he doesn't seem to know where he's supposed to be!"

"Oh, fuck off," I sighed.

"Yun! Get to the front or I'll come down there and drag you there myself," Edwards snapped.

I jammed my foot into the accelerator. I zig-zagged around the tails. I took ramp into the air, my stomach in my throat, before landing with a crescendo on the cold concrete. My wheels screeched with the effort to carry me around the pillars, through a pole series, sparks crying out at the bruising speed. I swung myself over a log pile, and pushed out the last half mile to reach Wynter.

I sidled up beside her and took a breath. "What now?" I asked.

"Oh, you're hopeless," Wynter said. "Gardner. Yi. Come on."

I turned my head to face front. "How the hell are we supposed to get to them?"

"You've got forty minutes to figure it out!"

It took me twenty minutes to find my way ahead once Wynter cleared out second front port. The Bruins' centerback and second port tail hadn't returned. They had still managed to close the point gap by ten points, but thirty still stood between them and Corvus. The upperclassmen had enough nerve to crack a few jokes at seemingly just maintaining the gap until the half was over.

"Take a breath, Yun," Diego laughed. "Bruins never make the victory difficult."

"Quit talking and watch your mark," Kane snapped.

Their captain and first center tail, Gardner, had gotten a little sick of us. And I'd gotten a little paranoid over Kane, who still, despite Coach's words, hadn't stopped tapping at the sides of his helmet. That, and I'd never been on the fucking track with them. But one crisis at a time.

Gardner and their second port tail, Yi, must have departed from their group at the back, as they had gone from completely out of sight to right there in our peripheral. Kane looked unbothered. My nerves rattled and shuddered.

"Modoru," Kenzo said. "Migi."

Back. Right.

Kenzo had never given Kane directions in any language, much less Japanese, when we raced. I thought of Kane's helmet.

Kane whirled around and spotted Yi just as Yi spotted him. They crashed nose to nose in a collision that lasted up the ramp, into the air. Gardner took the chance to swerve his bike to the left, and face me.

"Ah, fuck," I said.

He charged. I slid beneath a low hanger and abandoned Wynter. Wynter smashed the front of her bike into his. He ducked her swing, and punched her in the gut. She doubled over. He yanked his bike in a half-moon to chase me instead.

Yi punched the acceleration to crush his wheel down. He landed on Kane's wheel and together, they slid down, skidding nearly horizontal. Yi planted his metal knuckles to the concrete. He reached for Kane's handlebars in his peripheral as Kane began to slip fast. His movements were wild, reaching for something to hold him that wasn't there.

"Yi seems to be taking out King as we speak!" Nathan called. "What's going on with King here?"

I bit down on my lip. I cranked my bike's nose south of Gardner and beneath a low-hanger. I headed for the bridge. He headed after me.

"Change of plans," I called.

"Oh, no you don't, Yun," Rosalie snapped. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Doing what you told us," I argued. "Cleaning up."

I waited for us to crest the top, before gravity began to help pulling us downward to the cold, hard ground. Gardner gained fast as lightning. His gloved hands grasped the back of my bike.

"Yun," Coach said. "Do not launch yourself off that bridge or so help me—"

I pulled my bike left, and launched myself off the bridge.

We both went reeling downdowndown to the ground below. Kane shouted something that I both didn't want to and couldn't hear over the bullet of my heart in my skull.

I slammed on ground with such shuddering force that even Gardner couldn't hold on, his hand slipping off my bike to catch the ground with sparks flying. My tires thundered as it hit the ground. I didn't waste a breath. I sank my knees deep into the bike's sockets.

Kane and Yi appeared in my vision. I raced for them.

My bike's nose sank right into Yi's back wheel, catapulting us into the pillar ahead. Yi's right side smashed against the stone and sliced the air out of his wheels. He fell on the track, bone still.

My front wheel hit the pillar when he went reeling out of the way. I got only one second for my life to flash before my eyes before I was sailing left, bike and all, metal and human. The concrete, although expected, was a cruel, bruising kiss.

My wheels scrabbled for ground. I shoved my foot into its metal guts to careen it left. The wheels kissed the wall, found the jutting corner of a sharp turn, and sent me soaring like a shot put back onto the track.

"Looks like Yun has some interesting tricks up his rookie sleeve! That's a brutal play from such a new face!" Nathan laughed. "But the question is, what happened to King back there?"

I cranked my bike around a pillar, through a pole series. I raced, I raced, I raced. I rode my wheels on my heartbeat, on the inhuman rush of blood and gold in my veins. I found Wynter in between pillars and sidled up beside her. She just shook her head.

"Yun," she said. "You're out of your goddamn mind."

I threw my head back, and laughed.

When the buzzer screamed the halt of the match, the final score struck 100 to 136. Corvus's favor.

I'd never felt more alive.

"Am I speaking freaking Portuguese?" Coach snapped. "When I say don't do something, how do you hear definitely do that thing?"

"That hair dye seeped into your brain, it seems," Wynter said.

"Or it's the blood loss," Zahir said, grimacing at the scarlet dripping down from the side of my skull. "That was incredible. Stupid, but incredible. I think I'm impressed. That is a lot of blood."

"You have no idea," I promised, stripping off my gloves to toss onto the bench.

"I think you're clinically insane," Rosalie said with a nod. "There's a switch no one flicked on."

"Probably. But you've got no proof it's not just my genetically-ingrained idiocy."

"Did you just call yourself stupid?"

Coach sighed, shaking her head. "We'll discuss your authority issues later," she said, pointing at me. I saluted her at that. "Gossard, Gupta, you're on press duty, get out there before they barrel down the doors to come in here. I don't trust Yun to put him in front of a camera right now. Everyone get cleaned up, we're driving back in an hour or so. And congratulations, or whatnot." She raised a brow at me. "Congrats on your first win, kid."

I grinned, although the slice through my lip made it sting. "Does that mean I did well?"

"Means you're out of your goddamn mind and need to have some survival instincts," she said. "And you did well."

We cheered. The girls disappeared to their respective locker rooms as Ramos set her first aid bag down beside me. She withdrew a bandage and shook her head. "You look absolutely terrible," she said. "You three blend in a little too well here."

"You're sweet," I said. Ramos pasted another bandage over my cheek, HELLO KITTY in bold white across it.

"I heard you like her," she said as she did so.

"Yeah, don't let that get out," I hurried.

"Well, you won't need it too long." She tapped my cheek. "I suppose even Beta regeneration has its perks."

I held my aching ribs. "Doesn't it?"

"Ah, cobayo, you're a beast!" Diego cackled, ruffling my hair. "You're a bloody beast, but a beast nonetheless! I knew you'd do great. Chicken without its head, but you cleaned up."

"Nice work, man," Zahir said, smiling.

Kenzo raised a brow. He turned on his heel without a word. I pursed my lips, but gave the other two a half-hearted grin. "Thank you. But, you all really won the match."

"What're you going on about?" Diego snorted. "Corvus won. Whose team are you on?" He winked. "Congrats on your first win, rookie."

They dispersed to change. I sat in the glow of it for a little while longer, the norepinephrine still hot and sticky in my hands. The race rumbled in the back of my head, over and over again, like the track could run under my skin. I breathed it in deep.

The slightest air of metal caught me, and I turned my head.

Kane stood at the end of the locker aisle. He held his helmet in one hand, his jacket draped over his arm, blood dripping from his temple and chin, his cheekbone covered in a Kuromi Band-Aid. I stiffened. I glanced at his rings; the knuckle-adorning kind, signet and diamond.

He said, "You are an utter pain in my ass."

I said, "Corvus won."

Kane said, "Yes, we did."

I said, "All forgiven?"

He sighed. "Change out." I traced the light on the black ink on his neck, watching the way it shifted, watching the silver.

We changed in silence for the rest of it, but the gears in my mind wouldn't stop spinning. Everything would have checked out, if he wasn't the damn front port of the number one racing team in the NCAA.

I pulled on a long-sleeve over my undershirt. The fleeting echo of Zahir, Kenzo, and Diego's voices trailed out of the locker room. It left Kane and I as the last ones left.

"Why didn't you take care of Yi?" I asked.

Kane paused. "What?"

"When he was reaching for your bike," I said. "Why didn't you stop him?"

Kane said, "I didn't...think to."

I closed the locker. "He could've hurt your shoulder for good."

"He didn't. Why does it matter?"

"Doesn't," I lied. "What was wrong with your helmet?"

"Nothing. Wires got messed up. I couldn't hear well."

"Hear us? Why?"

"I need to talk to you, don't I?" he scoffed. He turned around to leave.

"Hard to hear what you can't see?" I said.

He froze in his tracks. The silence was thicker than coagulated blood. He turned back around to face me, cold like winter steel.

"What'd you just say?" he breathed.

I pulled my hoodie over my shirt. The rings, the smell of metal. The matches, Baluyot, Li. The helmet. The shoulder. Kenzo and him. The pieces snapped together as I spoke into one, dark, terrifying picture.

"The rings. Tapping things, knocking things. You don't sit on the outside of the group. You don't drive. You wait to look at people, you avoid the dark, you have better hearing than anyone else. You wear that helmet because there's something else wired in that helmet that talks to you when none of us need it to," I said. "Your shoulder never heals. You smell like soap until you smell like metal. So that's not a tattoo, is it?" I clutched the door of my locker, and crushed my teeth together. "That's silver."

The smell of metal, the strange shape, how his shoulder never seemed to fully heal and why his eyes, although void of direct damage or cataracts or plain genetic malfunction, couldn't see. It all merged into a confluence of the one thing that could do such a thing to an Alpha, and that was silver poisoning.

It was more than a weakness to a lycan. It was a death sentence.

Kane stared at me for a long, long moment. His eyes, blacker than all Hell, were unreadable, something frustrated, something shocked, something terrified. Suspended in the silver air.

Finally, he moved to take his bag from his locker. He shoved his jacket inside, took his helmet into his hands. He slung it over his shoulder.

"You," he breathed, impossibly quiet, "cannot say a word, to anyone, about this."

I did a double take. I gaped. I said, "How...how the hell are you racing if you can't even see?"

"Who have you told?" He grabbed my wrist, yanking me towards him, a desperate demand in his tone. "Have you said anything to Corvus?"

"It's not true, the silver," I whispered. "That's not what it is, is it?"

"I said, who have you told?"

A cannonball to the stomach would've been less shocking. I couldn't breathe. I didn't know how he could. Kane's grip tightened. Violet smoke filled his eyes, jacaranda purple and full of teeth.

"Answer my question," he hissed. "Who have you told?"

I shook my head. "No one," I hurried. "No one. Why would I tell anyone?"

He let me go at that. "Keep it that way," he said.

"How can you race if you can't see?" I repeated.

"I can see," he corrected pointedly. "And keep your voice down. I can see, I just can't see in my peripheral. My helmet has an in-ear that's hooked up to the points being scored from sensors on the track. Tells me who's where and when."

I blinked. "How did you not hear Baluyot?"

He hesitated. "You saw that."

It wasn't a question, but I nodded. "That silver is scarring, isn't it? You got the 607." When he went quiet, I saw the world spin. "You're dying."

"I'm fine," he snapped. "This isn't your concern."

"You need the 607."

"I need to make it through the season," he bit back. He switched to Korean. "Echo, you cannot tell this to anyone outside of Corvus. You have to promise."

"They know about the silver?" I said. "They know and they're letting you race?"

"They think it's scarring," he explained. I felt sick. "It has to stay that way, or they won't let me. Promise."

"Kane."

"If Avaldi or the NCAA finds out about my eyes, they'll cut me," he hissed, making me still.

"It's your life."

"This is my life," he said, and his face shed its viciousness, something frantic there. "Echo. Promise me, please. Promise me you won't say a word."

I didn't know if it was crueler to promise, or not to. I stared at the blood on his face, the silver on his neck, the violet dissipating from his irises. I always figured my promises were no good, were worth nothing from a ghost. Now, I figured perhaps it'd be kind.

"I promise," I said.

Secrets burned holes through my bones, and left nothing but lies to fill the gaps.

(ty for your time and for reading :D you're much appreciated. the little star thanks you for your presence)