It was us or him, I tell myself. A cut in the arm for two lives. A fair trade.
Us. How long has it been since I used that word? Not since the Reapers pulled my sister from our bamboo mat, and I watched, screaming. My twiggy, twelve-year-old frame helpless against so many men. I couldn’t fight. Couldn’t stop them from taking her.
Since then, it’s been only me. No one to slow me down. No one for me to protect. No one to betray me.
But now I don’t have a choice. If I want to keep looking for my sister, I have to keep working with Dai. The idea makes me uneasy, but it’s not all bad. It’ll be nice to talk to someone whose vocabulary is wider than a meow…
The sound of footsteps jerks me back into full consciousness. It’s still dark — but my body has that sluggish ache that means I’ve been asleep. I don’t have time to wonder about it. Someone’s coming.
“Jin?”
My heart slows its rapid rabbit race. It’s only Dai. Again. “What do you want?”
“You haven’t moved,” he says.
“I’ve been too busy,” I tell him. This isn’t completely true — I realize as soon as I say this. It’s actually because I’m not afraid of Dai.
“I was sure you wouldn’t still be here.”
I remember, in a panic, that I’m not dressed. I’ve just thrown the still-damp clothes over my head when Dai pokes his head through the tarp’s hole.
“Couldn’t sleep. Got us some breakfast.”
New smells slide through the mildew stench of my tarp.
Wonderful smells. Dough and sweet, tangy meat. My mouth waters. The hunger that’s always inside me stretches. Roars.
But why would Dai spend his hard-earned money on breakfast? For me? I never even buy food for myself. Money, when I do have it, goes toward tarps and knives. Things I can’t steal quite as easily.
“What’s the catch?” I ask.
“No catch.” Dai’s stare flicks down to my tunic. I realize my hand is tucked there, reaching for my knife. Pure instinct. I pull my hand back out. Leave the blade hidden. “Let’s just call it a thank you for keeping me alive back at Longwai’s.”
“Did you know he was looking for permanent runners?” I watch Chma slink closer to Dai. The smell of meat makes him give a long, low whine.
“No. He made it sound like a onetime deal. I had no idea it would be a test.” Dai sticks the bag of food through the hole in the tarp and waves it around. Chma yowls louder, swiping a paw at the brown paper: Miiiiiiiiiine. “Now, come on. Let’s go eat some buns.”
“Go where?”
“You and your questions.” He rolls his eyes, pulls his head out of my makeshift tent. “Come on. It’s stopped raining.”
I stare through the hole for a moment. Into the dark chill. My body aches for sleep, the warmth of my blanket. But I want the buns more.
I follow Dai to the end of my alley through the twists and nooks of squalid shanties. We go up and up — up stairs, through hallways of peeling paint and spidery mildew stains, up ladders, across bridges of bamboo and wire. I keep the older boy at a distance, hand always waiting to jump to my knife. He leads me through one more narrow passage to the foot of a rusting ladder. When I look up, my breath catches in my throat. At the top is — nothing. A far, black stretch of sky. If I look close enough, I can actually see some stars. They’re faint and chipped. Broken. Every constellation — both the real ones and the ones I invented — has a piece missing. Torn apart by the overwhelming presence of city.
I follow Dai up the ladder. By the time I reach the top, the older street boy is already far off, weaving through lines of drying laundry. Forests of antennas. When he reaches the edge, he sits there with his feet dangling, paper bag at his side. One push or hard gust of wind could send him over to certain death. He’s either incredibly brave or really reckless.
I’m not sure which.
“Come sit,” he calls over his shoulder.
I walk forward. The lights of City Beyond shine bright — like stars that fell to earth and got wedged in its streets and sidewalks. The kind Mei Yee and I used to watch for. Some of the taller skyscrapers are still lit. More stars, trying to climb their way back home. Make the constellations whole again.
“It’s been so long since I’ve seen them,” I say, and crouch next to the older boy. He’s watching the stars, too.
The air wrinkles with the sound of Dai opening the bag. A nudge against my elbow causes me to jump. It’s only Chma, rubbing his nose and whiskers over my sleeve. I don’t know how he got up here, but this isn’t the first time he’s appeared in impossible places.
“I come up here sometimes. When all the stuff down there gets too much.” Dai pulls out a bun and pushes the bag closer to me. I don’t hesitate. “I like to remember there’s a sky.”
“Those are my favorite.” I point off to a cluster of stars, stronger than most, at the crown of one of Seng Ngoi’s tallest buildings. “They always reminded me of a rice scythe.”
Dai quirks his head, eyes narrowed, seeing that herd of stars in a whole new light. “That’s a unique way of looking at Cassiopeia.”
“What’s Cassapeah?” The word is eel-slippery on my tongue. I’m sure I’ve said it wrong.
“Cassiopeia? She was a queen long ago, in a different part of the world. The stories say she was very beautiful, but very proud. Too proud. She smack-talked some goddesses and got herself stuck up there for all eternity.”
I look back at the group of stars, try to see this beautiful queen. But only the crescent curve of a blade stares back. Glint and hard hours under the sun. Maybe he’s making it up.
Maybe. But something in his words makes me believe. Makes me want to remember. Cassiopeia. I tuck the name away. The story that goes with these stars.
“How’d you know that?”
“It’s… not important.” The older boy goes to take a bite of his bun, only to find Chma pinned to his side. All rub and purr and please feed me eyes. “Hey, cat.”
“His name is Chma.” I pull my bun apart. Golden juices leak through cracks in the dough. Run hot down my arm.
The meat is still burning, too hot to put on my tongue. I nibble at the bread instead.
“Chma. How’d you come up with a name like that?”
“You’re not the only one with allergies. He sneezes a lot.” I toss a pinch of bread in Chma’s direction. He pours out of Dai’s lap the way only a feline can: full of frantic dignity. “You know. Chma chma!”
The street boy’s stare is almost as withering as the cat’s. “Chma chma? Not hat-chi? Or achoo?”
“Cat sneezes sound different from human sneezes!”
“Okay.” He takes another bite of his stuffed bun, but even a full mouth won’t hide his smirk. “Whatever you say.”
“I swear, it sounds like that,” I mumble, and look over at the cat in question. He has no interest in sneezing. Instead, he scours the rooftop for more crumbs.
We eat fast. Three buns each. By the end, my belly is almost full. I pat it with one hand and lick the juice from my fingers. Chma moves on to the empty bag. He inches in: head, shoulders, body. Only his tail curls out.
The sky in front of us grows light. No more stars — just a lesser darkness. We’ve been so quiet during our meal that I almost forget Dai is here, sitting next to me. That I’m not alone.