Wildcard (Warcross #2)(5)

“Hey,” Hammie calls out. “You okay?”

He pauses to look back at us. “Okay with what? That we’re all sitting here, talking about the technicalities of how Emi should throw herself into a situation that might kill her?”

The rest of us halt in our conversation, words hanging unspoken in the air. I’ve never heard real anger in Roshan’s voice before, and the sound seems wrong.

He looks around at his teammates before letting his eyes settle on me. “You don’t owe Hideo anything,” he says softly. “You did what you were hired to do. It’s not your responsibility to dig deeper into this—into Zero’s past or what happened between him and Hideo or even what he plans on doing to Hideo.”

“Emi’s the only one who—” Asher begins.

“Like you’ve always looked out for what she needs,” Roshan snaps back. My eyebrow raises in surprise.

“Roshan,” Asher says, watching him carefully.

But Roshan tightens his lips. “Look—if Zero’s team is still set on stopping Hideo, then let him do it. Let the two of them go at each other. Step back and remove yourself from this. You don’t have to do it. And none of us should be convincing you of anything different.”

Before I can respond, Roshan turns away and heads out into the night air. The door slides shut behind him with a sharp bang. Around me, the others let out an inaudible breath.

Hammie shakes her head when I look at her. “It’s because he’s here,” she mutters, nodding to Tremaine. “He throws Roshan off.”

Tremaine clears his throat uncomfortably. “He’s not wrong,” he finally says. “About the danger, I mean.”

I stare at the space where Roshan had been and picture his prayer beads sliding against his wrist. In my view, I can still see the last message from Zero sitting in my archives, the letters small and white and waiting.

My offer to you still stands.

Hammie sits back and crosses her arms. “Why are you going on with this?” she asks me.

“Is the fate of the world not enough of a reason?”

“No, there’s more to it than that.”

Irritation rises in my chest. “This is all happening because of me—I was directly involved.”

Hammie doesn’t back down from the edge in my words. “But you know it’s not your fault. Tell me—why?”

I hesitate, not wanting to say it. In the corner of my view, I see Hideo’s profile haloed in green. He’s awake and online. It’s enough to make me want to reach out and Link with him.

I hate that he still has this pull on me. After all, everyone has had that one person they can’t help but obsess over. It’s not like I haven’t enjoyed flings that came and went in the span of a few weeks. And yet . . .

He’s more than a fling or a bounty or a mark. He’s forever bound to my history. The Hideo who has stolen the world’s free will is still the same Hideo who grieved his brother so deeply that it left a permanent thread of silver in his dark hair. The same Hideo who loves his mother and father. The same Hideo who once lifted me out of my darkness and dared me to dream of better things.

I refuse to believe that he’s nothing more than a monster. I can’t watch him sink like this. I keep going because I need to find that boy again, the beating heart buried underneath his lie. I have to stop him in order to save him.

He was once the hand that pulled me up. Now I have to be his.



* * *





* * *



BY THE TIME we leave the bar, it’s well past midnight, and the pouring rain has dwindled to a fine mist. Some people still dot the streets. The first two all-star players have just been announced, and virtual figures of them now hover under every streetlight in the city.

HAMILTON JIMéNEZ of USA | PHOENIX RIDERS

PARK JIMIN of SOUTH KOREA | BLOODHOUNDS

Hammie barely glances at the images of her best in-game moves now dancing below the light posts. “You should head back with us,” she says, eyeing the neighborhood.

“I’ll be fine,” I reassure her. If someone really is following me, best not to make it so that they’re following my teammates, too.

“It’s Kabukichō, Em.”

I give her a wry smile. “So? Hideo’s algorithm is running on most of these people now. What’s there to be afraid of?”

“Very funny,” Hammie responds with an exasperated lift of her eyebrow.

“Look, we shouldn’t all be traveling together. You know that makes us too tempting a target, regardless of the algorithm. I’ll call you when I’m in back in my hotel.”

Hammie hears the note of finality in my voice. Her lips twist in frustration, but then she nods and starts to walk away. “Yeah, you better,” she says over her shoulder, waving her hand at me as she hurries off.

I watch her join the others as they head toward the subway station, where a private car waits for them. I try to picture each of them before they were famous, the first times they arrived in Tokyo, whether or not they felt invisible enough to take the subway. Whether they felt alone.

When my teammates disappear into the haze of rain, I turn away.

I’m used to traveling by myself. Still, my solitude feels sharper now, and the space around me seems emptier without my teammates. I shove my hands back into my pockets and try to ignore the virtual male model that now saunters up to me with a smile, inviting me in English into one of the host clubs that line the street.