I grabbed the water bottle, snapped the cap open and downed it. All the while I could feel Ashur's stare weighing on me.
I brushed a hand over the bandage on my leg and tried to stand. I felt better—mostly; my stomach ached, the hollow kind that comes from weakness and not eating.
Zombie swivelled in her chair towards me.
"Left you a sandwich on the dining table."
I nodded my thanks and limped to the small, round orange table in the corner of the living room. I reached for the tuna-mayo sandwich, sat right there, and took a few big bites to fill the emptiness faster.
Chewing, I glanced around. Her place was small, with a strange mix of décor: floral sofas, pink glass lamps, a red Persian rug… Nothing matched, and somehow it still felt like one of those old antique shops you don't want to leave.
I thought about my own flat: no colour. Nothing that said anything about me, nothing that held a single memory. Nothing. If I died one day, would anyone know what kind of person I'd been—my favourite food, my favourite colour, how I usually lived, what I wore?
I forced down another bite and remembered—I'd never been allowed to be myself. Maybe now that I'd freed Ashur, I'd finally get to show the edges of who I am. Maybe I could have a beach house: sky-blue curtains, white furniture, a wicker chair by the window near the fireplace.
The picture made me smirk. I looked up at Ashur—and froze under his stare. I forced the bite down and, clinging to the idea of my freedom from the Organisation, said to Zombie,
"Did you get through to the Tailor? I need my exit pass. We need to go our separate ways."
At the same time I flicked a glance at Ashur, sitting on the sofa, watching me.
Zombie stopped typing and turned. The RGB glow from her rig washed her face pink and violet. She pulled off her headphones, drew a breath.
"Orders say you two are going to Tokyo."
I let out a mocking little laugh, looked at Ashur, and swallowed my bite.
"Him and me?"
Zombie nodded, thoughtful. She stood, shoved her hands into her pockets and shrugged.
"Not a routine order, that's for sure."
She bent, slid open a drawer, pulled out a large red box and set it on the dining table.
I stared at it. She lifted the lid with care. A Golden Rose lay inside, and my brows pulled tight.
Sitting across from me, she explained,
"You know what it means. When the Organisation sends a Golden Rose as an advance, the mission's high value. It means you have to go to Tokyo together."
I ground my teeth. I turned and snarled at Ashur.
"You knew?"
My palm slammed the table. I locked on to his velvet-dark, unreadable eyes and shouted,
"I was supposed to be free! A new mission? With you? In Tokyo?"
A brittle laugh broke out of me. I leaned back against the wooden chair, pressed my head into my hands and shut my eyes.
His low voice slid through the room.
"I told you. You don't get to walk free."
I blinked hard, looked up, and swung towards him.
"Say that again. I dare you."
Rage shook through me; my hands were fists, frozen solid.
He stepped forward, unbothered, and stopped right in the middle of the rug—and only then did it hit me how wrong he looked in this cosy little place: all brutal lines and height; a monster wandering out of the ghost city into the land of fairies.
His lips moved, slow.
"You. Don't. Walk. Free."
Heat roared through me. In one motion I snatched the vase off the table and hurled it at his head, shoving up from the chair and lunging for him.
He caught the vase mid-air with his left hand. His right wrapped around my wrist a breath before my fist met his face, pinning me an arm's length away.
Zombie jumped between us, grabbed my waist and threw an arm out like a barrier, eyes wide.
"Hey, hey—easy!"
My chest heaved with fury. Ashur's gaze—dark, dangerous—stayed locked on mine.