"I am alone, I thought, and they are everybody."

"See you tonight."

How long had it been since he could trust a promise like that? A casual remark, no doubt, for Sing, but for Yut-Lung it was a promise, and it was one he clung to as Sing pushed his coffee mug away from him, slopping brown liquid onto the table, and got to his feet.

"What are you up to today?" Yut-Lung asked casually, flipping his hair over his shoulder. He knew the answer, but he wanted to hear it.

"Eiji's leaving," said Sing. "I've got to see him before he goes."

Leaving. He'd known it, but hearing the word hurt.

You're leaving Ash. Yut-Lung's heart felt heavy. I did this. It's my fault. He knew Eiji wouldn't leave Ash, not ever, not unless Ash left him, and he knew Blanca and he knew what he would have advised Ash.

You want to protect him. No matter what it costs you.

Yut-Lung traced the pad of his index finger around the rim of his mug. A lump grew in his throat. What will become of you, then, Ash? And what if this reinforced to Sing how this was all his fault, and he hated Yut-Lung again?

He knew. He knew Ash would never become the demon Yut-Lung had once mused that he would, and he knew he would never become Yut-Lung. Even if he's not here, you'll still love him, won't you?

"Something you wanna say?" Sing prompted.

Yut-Lung shook his head. "Just—I'm sorry." He met Sing's eyes.

I'll never forgive you…

I can't hate you… your soul is bleeding, even now.

Sing nodded. "I know." He shoved his hands into his pockets. "Probably temporary anyways. We all know Eiji doesn't exactly listen to any crap Ash says anyways."

Yut-Lung smiled. He hoped. He actually hoped Eiji would come back, after his time in Japan. It was what Sing wanted. He wondered if he could give Eiji an apology for Sing to pass on. No, he shouldn't. He doubted Eiji would want to hear anything from him. Sing would probably be annoyed.

"See ya." Sing waved.

"What do you want for dinner?" Yut-Lung called out.

"Surprise me! Knowing you it'll be something stupidly fancy anyways." Sing sauntered down the staircase.

Yut-Lung scowled. For that, he was going to ask for the easiest, most common dumplings his cook could make. He stomped up the stairs towards his room, eyeing the bottle of wine that sat unopened on his desk. Since his conversation with Sing…

I don't need it. He turned away from the bottle, heading towards his bookcase instead. The window was ajar. A chill seeped into the room.

He'd once opened these windows, inviting Eiji to jump to his death. How many nights had he sat there, since he was a child, staring at the ground and with all the neurons in his brain screaming and screaming at him to jump, and yet the tinkling and rustling of Hua-Lung moving through the corridors convinced him not to?

He wanted to see his brothers go down, first. And now they were, and it hadn't made him a lick happier. But Sing sticking with him, helping him manage things, working to restore Chinatown—the window seemed cold and icy instead. He perused the bookshelves again. What was the book Blanca said he got Ash to read? Oh right. Islands in the Stream. It was morbidly depressing from what Yut-Lung had read about it. He selected it, and then Crime and Punishment. A Russian novel, from Blanca's homeland. Maybe it would contain some advice.

He flopped down on his bed, taking in the story. Exhaustion tugged at him.

"Master Yut-Lung?" a voice called from the doorway, tentative, like they expected him to hurl inkwells at their head because he definitely hadn't done that almost daily for months until that talk with Sing.

"Yes?" Yut-Lung closed the book. Outside, the sun dipped in the sky, orange flames flickering behind clouded curtains, the more distant clouds smoldering as if burnt.

"A note arrived for you, sir."

"A note? Like in the mail?" Yut-Lung pushed himself up as the servant stood in the doorway, nervous.

"It was delivered to the door, and the doorbell rung, but when we answered no one was there, and the note was pinned to the mat." The servant shrugged. "We examined it for toxins, but it doesn't look—"

"Give it to me." Yut-Lung held out his hand. The paper was folded in half, a small piece of stationary with two pink hearts in the corner, like a girl's first stationery set. His name was scrawled on the back side of the page. He frowned.

The message was not so innocent.

If you ever want to see Sing Soo-Ling alive again, you'll be home at 7:00 in the evening in two days time.

Yut-Lung's mouth hung open. This was—

"This was what pinned the note down," the servant squeaked, holding out something black, cloth-like.

Yut-Lung snatched it, but he already knew what it was, of course.

Dragon fang.

Sing would never have handed that over.

Who—how—

Sing was too good. The only people who could have—

But there was no reason for Ash to have done anything like this. Sing said he and Ash called off their fight. They were getting along. They were—

Then again, didn't Yut-Lung know personally that it was hard for one man to control dozens of people?

"It's likely fake," said the servant quickly. "But we wanted to—"

Yut-Lung yanked out his phone and dialed Sing's number.

A garbled voice answered. "We knew you'd be calling."

"Who the fuck—"

"You've received our note." The caller hung up.

Panic shot through Yut-Lung. He could smell the dumplings cooking downstairs. Sing—Sing—

He called Lao next. No answer. Of course, the idiot could be ignoring his call, but if Sing was in danger, Lao surely would have—what if he's dead? He and Sing had been planning a strike against the Vietnamese, and the—

I can't lose him!

Yut-Lung grabbed his coat. "Get the car ready."

"Where are you going?" demanded the man. "I—"

"And get a bodyguard or two," said Yut-Lung. He knew from Sing's comments where Ash most likely was. And if you've done anything to him, or your stupid friends, truce off.

In all likelihood he hadn't, though. But Ash's men…

If you don't kill them, I will.

He's leaving today.

The clock ticked and tocked. Ash focused on the books in front of him. He didn't want to know how close they were to the time when Eiji's plane would rush down a runway and fly off, removing him from New York, taking him back to Japan, a place with thousands of gods and where he could be safe.

It still hurt, like a sore that wouldn't heal. Too infected to heal, he supposed. A good metaphor for himself. Ash bit down on the back end of his pen.

It's for the best.

He missed him already. Even inside the library, he felt cold embedded in his fingers and toes.

You'll be safe. You'll be safe.

It was all worth it. For Eiji.

"Are you Aslan?" piped up a voice behind him.

Ash spun around. A small boy with braids beamed at him. "Who are you?"

The boy shrugged. "Some guy outside gave me a twenty to find a boy with blonde hair and green eyes named Aslan, and give you this." He thrust a letter in a thick envelope at him.

Huh? "What did he look like?" Ash asked. Whoever it was sent a kid?

"Old." The kid shrugged. "If you're Aslan, can I go? I wanna buy some snacks." He held up his twenty, as if proud of it.

"I'm Aslan," Ash said, taking the note. "You can go."

The boy skipped off. Ash hesitated, and then unfolded the letter. It was folded into neat quarters, and two dumb hearts were in the corner.

If you want to see Eiji Okumura alive again, you'll come to this address tomorrow before 7:00 in the evening.

He knew that address.

And also in the envelope was Eiji's passport.

What? Panic boiled inside of Ash. This couldn't be happening. Eiji was still injured! He couldn't even walk properly—he—

Ash yanked out his phone and scrambled to his feet, striding out of the library. He stopped by the stone lions on the steps. He studied the passport, flipping through it, looking for any signs of a forgery. It didn't look fake. He texted Max. Did Eiji make it off okay?

He went off with Sing—he said he'd meet us back at the airport around now.

Sing… Ash glared back at the address. Yut-Lung's house, he was sure of it. And yet—Sing wouldn't. He and Sing had put it behind them. Sing wasn't duplicitous. He wasn't like Yut-Lung. Sing had risked everything to save him and help Eiji, dammit!

What if he's threatening Lao? Or the guys?

This is not fucking happening! Ash clutched his skull, hands shaking. Eiji was supposed to be safe. Eiji was leaving. Eiji was—

Blanca, why did you not want me to go after him? Is Yut-Lung too shitty of a person for even you to figure out?

Unless he comes gunning for me…

You bastard, what did Eiji ever do to you?

He'd already irreparably broken Eiji's like with all this murder and the gunshot and—gorge rose in Ash's throat. I'm so selfish. He should never have—it's too late. Too late to mend anything. He'd dug his grave, and Eiji—

No. Ash gulped in air, frigid. It iced his burning windpipe, his lungs. Blanca taught him this. Deep breaths.

Sorry, Blanca, but I'm going to kill him. One last murder, for Eiji. Ash pried himself away from the wall, stepping forward. He turned to rush down the street.

Something sharp plunged into him. His gun went off.

Huh?

Now? "You bastard!" Ash spat at Lao.

Lao gaped at him, clutching his side as well. Blood streamed down through his fingers, coating his jeans, coating the wall. His mouth opened and closed like a fish trying to breath. "You—"

"Neither of us are gonna make it—you idiot! You missed all my vital organs!" Pain scrambled through Ash, and wamrth coated him, a jarring combination. "You sent this letter," Ash managed. It was all—just to kill him?

But then Eiji was safe…

"Huh?" Lao spluttered. "A letter?"

Ash held up the note, and the passport. "Eiji—"

"Huh? The Japanese boy?" Lao rubbed his forehead. He sank back, down towards the ground. "Shit… shit…"

If Eiji's okay…

I can…

Ash turned around. He yanked his coat closer. The pinching sensation in his side expanded, prickling and itching and cold and hot all at the same time. He stumbled.

If he's safe…

He should just text Max one last time, make sure that Eiji was okay. He fumbled to take out his phone, thumb smearing crimson over the screen as he tried to unlock it.

A shiny black car pulled up next to him. Ash turned.

Yut-Lung Lee scrambled out. Ash whipped out his gun. At the very least—but if he really hadn't done anything, then—he promised Blanca—

"What the hell happened to you?" burst out Yut-Lung, taking in the red stain under Ash. He spotted Lao and swore.

"Christ, why you?" muttered Ash. He did not want Yut-Lung's face to be the last one he saw on this earth. Though that'd be just his luck.

"Where's Sing?" Yut-Lung shouted. "Your men—Lao, is that why you—" He waved something in the air. A slip of paper. It blurred, and then corrected itself.

"Sing—had to—or else Ash would kill him—" Lao rasped.

"Did you get a note, too?" Yut-Lung looked at Ash, his eyes narrowed into purple daggers.

Ash turned. He had no idea what they were talking about.

"Oh, no!" Yut-Lung shouted, grasping his arm. "You're not going anywhere until you tell me where Sing is—if you die, your men will kill him!"

Ash gaped up at Yut-Lung. "What are you even on about?" It wasn't computing. Yut-Lung and Lao were carrying on about—well, he knew Lao hated him, feared him, but—

Yut-Lung snatched the passport from his hands, and the letter.

"Hey!" Ash tried to grasp it back. His arms weren't cooperating very well, and straightening felt like his muscles were being ripped even further. Fucking stab wound.

"Call an ambulance," Yut-Lung ordered his driver, reading Ash's letter. "Lao, you got a letter too?"

"No letter," Lao mumbled. "For Sing—he'd kill him eventually…"

"No!" Ash glared at him. "I'm not—going to a hospital. I'm legally dead, remember? And I don't know what you're talking about with Sing!" His legs felt a bit weak now. More warmth, soothing him. The tips of his fingers tingled, and then the knuckles, because he wasn't sure he had fingertips anymore. It was like they'd floated away.

"Call an ambulance for Lao now," Yut-Lung instructed his—whatever he was. Guard? Not Blanca. He was a tiny man. "And call the doctor and have him meet me at my house right away, or I'll have his head!" He grabbed Ash's shoulder.

"Let go of me!"

"You're going to die unless you get help!"

"I don't—"

A gunshot. Yut-Lung ducked. Ash too, but Yut-Lung was faster than him, which wasn't a good sign. Everything felt like it was dissolving away from him. Reflexes, thinking, sight.

Not memories. Eiji smiling at him, promising to stay by his side. Forever. Warm, again—

"Yut-Lung!" cried out his bodyguard.

"Get him in!" Yut-Lung scrambled, but Ash wasn't sure where. All he knew were arms were around him, and if he closed his eyes, he could pretend they were Eiji's.

And then he was in a car with leather seats, and someone was pressing down on his wound. White-hot pain exploded in front of his eyes. Ash cried out.

Yut-Lung. With his own coat, yellow with a red blotch spreading on it as Yut-Lung knelt on his fucking wound to keep it from bleeding or to torture him, Ash couldn't really tell which.

"Get—off me!"

"No!" Yut-Lung slammed the door. "What are you waiting for, take off!" he bellowed at the driver. "Someone just tried to shoot us!"

The driver obeyed. Ash's head lolled to the side. All he could think was that the ceiling was dark, so dark, and the doors and windows were rolled up and still it was so cold.

Yut-Lung thrust the letters in his face. "See? Unless it's a cruel prank."

"Let me out!" But Ash couldn't even push back. His gaze wavered, focus going in and out. Both letters had hearts on them. Stupid hearts. Two hearts.

"Eiji needs you," Yut-Lung was saying.

He couldn't hear him. He was falling forward, black fuzziness closing in around him.

Eiji…

Say his name again.

I like that.

"If he dies, I'm going to fire you!" shouted Yut-Lung at the doctor, who raced in. Ash had passed out in the car. He'd lost so much blood. "He's O positive."

The doctor nodded. Yut-Lung bit down on his lip. Ash's blood soaked his coat, his shirt, dripped off his hands.

You can't die now. He gulped, holding up the letters. If Lao really didn't get one, then did he actually try to kill Ash right when Yut-Lung might actually need him?

It seems the unlucky star he was born under was just the gift that kept on giving. Ho ho ho.

Someone had tried to shoot at them. Yut-Lung tried to breathe. The same people who had sent the letters? Why? Or was it the China gang that hadn't quite forgiven him and yet and probably never would?

He should have dragged Lao here, too. But he needed the doctor to focus solely on Ash. Lao was less important.

You better not fucking die.

It was hours before the doctor emerged and told him he thought Ash would make it. Yut-Lung exhaled. "When will he wake up?"

"I don't know," the doctor said. "He lost quite a bit of blood, and I had to knock him out to stitch him up. Rest is important as part of the healing process—"

Yut-Lung stomped his foot. "But I need to talk to him!"

"Fine, if you want to disrupt the process." The doctor rolled his eyes. "I'm still billing you. And he shouldn't get up for the next day."

"Fine, fine." Yut-Lung scowled. He stomped into the room where Ash lay asleep, paler that normal, his yellow hair weak and limp. An IV strung from his arm to a pole.

Yut-Lung dropped down in the armchair across from him. He was in the same room Yut-Lung had imprisoned Eiji when he bailed him out of jail. The window had been fixed, though.

If you'd just stayed, Yut-Lung thought bitterly. If you're just stayed, Eiji. He missed having Blanca here to pepper with his anxieties while pretending they were Blanca's anxieties or the worries of common stupid humanity. And he missed Sing.

You offered to help me. Knowing everything.

Yut-Lung pressed his chin into his knees. The notes crinkled in his pocket. Wake up soon, Ash.

Eiji needs you, and I need Sing.

He dozed. In his mind the kidnappers sent him another note, and it turned out to be Hua-Lung and Blanca, teaming up against him, and Yut-Lung screamed.

He jerked awake. His back cramped from huddling in that stupid chair for so long. Yut-Lung scrambled to his feet, sweat dampening his face and neck. He lifted his hair off of his neck and glanced towards the bed.

Ash stared up at him, squinting, confused.

Yut-Lung jumped again. "You're awake!"

"That you screaming?" Ash rasped. "I—"

"Don't move," Yut-Lung warned. "The doctor had to go out, but he said you—"

Ash's eyes popped. "I'm not dead."

"No?"

"This isn't hell."

"Oh, shut up."

Ash pushed himself up. Yut-Lung thought about trying to force him to lie back but decided against it. "Eiji—"

Yut-Lung withdrew the two letters from his pocket, holding them out to Ash. "One of them was delivered to my door. I assumed it was you and your men."

"I would never—" Ash broke off. "You're hiding—"

"If I was hiding Eiji do you think I'd have stitched you up?"

"Oh, wow. Did the work yourself?"

Yut-Lung glared at him. "Sing was going to see Eiji last I talked with him. And I called him, and someone else answered."

Ash's face turned, if possible, even more ghostly. "I—"

"I can't lose Sing." Yut-Lung folded his hands together. "He's helping me settle Chinatown again—I need him to—" And I need him. His teeth chattered.

"Eiji was supposed to be safe," Ash whispered. "You—shot—"

"Yes, I did, and now I'll help save him, if you help me save Sing!" Yut-Lung glared at Ash. Please.

I don't think I can do it alone. Not anymore.

I'm pathetic and weak.

"They said to be here tomorrow night," Ash whispered.

Yut-Lung nodded.

"Someone on your staff—"

Yut-Lung gulped. Sing's warning lingered in his mind. They'll poison you someday.

Let them try.

Not like this! He stomped his foot. My fault, my fault, why is it always me? "It's possible." He wished Blanca were here again, to help him double-check. But Blanca'd left. Like everyone left. Except Sing.

"Why don't I have some friends come and help us out?" Ash invited icily.

"No!" Yut-Lung felt panic shoot through him. Ash's friends would be far less—

"If you're lying, I'll—"

"What do I have to gain?" Yut-Lung demanded, voice brittle. "I've already lost everything. Except Sing." His chest heaved. His fists clenched at his sides. He's all I have.

"Okay," Ash said. "But I need to get word to my gang, and to talk to Ibe."

Dammit. Of course Ash had lots of people to turn to.

Nothing had changed. Nothing at all. Just like he would never be able to.

But Sing… he thought Yut-Lung could fix things. Make things right. Even if he couldn't change.

Without you, it's hopeless.