Chapter 8

After

Kuwabara snored. Urameshi, too.

Nozumi had fallen asleep despite it, too wiped by her poor sleep the night before to care about their raucous breathing, but when years of training kicked in, waking her well before sunrise, she was greeted by Kuwabara's rumbles and Urameshi's stuttering inhales. They acted as background music as she stoked the embers of yesterday's fire back to life, drew a pot from Sueko's pack, and filled it with water from her canteen. She set the pot above the flames to come to a boil, then sat back, pulling her blanket into her lap.

Somewhere up and to her left, Hiei hunkered in the canopy. She could sense him, though she made no effort to identify his shape amongst the branches. If he wanted to keep his distance, that suited her well enough. The sooner she found—or failed to find—Yukina, the sooner he could be free of her again. She'd go back to pretending he did not exist on the good days and pretending him dead on the bad ones, and he'd return to his life as one of the preeminent powers of the demon plane.

A life she'd never desired and one he always had.

Drawing in a steadying breath, she centered herself and cast thoughts of him aside. With each new inhale, she aimed to expand her lungs further, letting the oxygen flow through her muscles, feeling each breath spread to her toes and her fingertips, her scalp and her heels.

When the burbling of the pot announced it had come to a boil, she poured the water back into her canteen and slipped one of the sachets she'd prepped with Sueko the day before into the steaming container. A few minutes later, it was ready, and she drank it slowly. Between each sip, she breathed deep, expanding her lungs, letting the tea ripple into her extremities.

Her energy would never rival Urameshi's. Nor Hiei's. Nor even Kuwabara's. It was little more than a glow at the core of her soul, faint and precious. But like sparks off a well-struck flint, it could be coaxed into a flame. It wouldn't burn forever, only as long as the fuel she fed it allowed, but it would last long enough for her to look for Yukina, to cast herself far and wide in search of a girl who may not want to be found.

When Nozumi had drunk the last drop of tea, she shook the sachet free of her canteen and tossed into the fire. Then she pulled an opal from her pocket and ran her thumb across its surface, rubbing away tiny, nearly imperceptible smudges, until it shone clear and bright.

Colors rippled within the stone. Red bled into blue that morphed into green. She traced the trails of color, trying to track a shade back to its origin only to get lost in another. It was harder to chase the bonds of two people, which ran in both directions, shifting based on each soul's whims. Objects were easier. An object possessed no emotions, no passions, no ever-shifting desires. Only the bonds of the living mattered in that sort of hunt. As long as her client was truthful, those connections were pure and immutable. Today's hunt would not be so easy, and she dug doggedly into the stone, sinking into the stories the men had shared with her.

Down, down, down she traveled, into the depths of the opal—until, entirely without warning, she burst out the other side. The colors warped and twisted, unspooling across the clearing like dancing heatwaves.

Memories rose within her. They were distant and unfamiliar, as if from another lifetime—or another life entirely. She recalled nearly dying at the hands of Risho, Team Masho's vicious leader, only for Yukina to arrive and bring her powers surging back. She cherished the long nights she'd spent holed up in a luxurious hotel room with Yukina and their friends, hiding from the rich humans and vicious demons cheering for their demise. She remembered Yukina's distress when she played dead at the hands of Younger Toguro.

Other memories crowded in, fighting to be heard, but it was those of the Dark Tournament a decade ago that won out. They drew Nozumi not out across the demon plane, but instead up and between and through to a different plane entirely.

To Human World.

To Hanging Neck Island.

Breathless, her energy burned down to embers and smoke, Nozumi came to.

The opal had shattered between her fingers, tiny slivers embedded in her palms. Grimacing, she pulled them free best she could. It was only as a scale flaked off her wrist, drifting into the pool of her blanket, that she realized she'd forgotten to wrap fresh cloth around her molting wrists.

She reached for her bag, eager to hide her ugly, peeling scales, but someone cleared their throat, and she stilled. An audience had gathered. Sueko, seated to Nozumi's left, looking apprehensive, her false power eddying around her—and all four men. Urameshi's mane was mussed with sleep, flatter on the left than the right, and Kuwabara leaned forward eagerly, raking his gaze from the shattered opal in Nozumi's hands to her eyes and back again. Kurama appeared serene as always, but there was a sharpness to his attention that bespoke an underlying tension.

And Hiei.

Well, Nozumi did not look at Hiei.

"Did you find her?" Urameshi demanded, and for a breath, Nozumi was surprised the question hadn't come from Kuwabara—until she remembered their pinky promise.

"Maybe." She wrapped her hands in her blanket, hiding both her blood-spattered palms and her molting wrists. "Would she have gone back to Hanging Neck Island?"

Before she'd even finished her question, Urameshi snapped, "She didn't go anywhere. She was kidnapped."

Nozumi was too exhausted for charades, her night's rest already meaningless. "Uh huh."

Urameshi blustered, ready to keep berating her, but Kurama held up a hand. "Why do you think she's at Hanging Neck Island?"

How could she possibly explain? She'd spent a decade learning her craft, practicing and honing her skill until she could be seated in her family's inn deep in Gandara and track an object all the way to the far reaches of Alaric. Across endless leagues. Farther than she'd ever traveled in her life. It was an art form, as rich and deep as martial arts or cartography or music.

Needing to preoccupy herself, she reached again for her bag and drew forth cloth strips. She set about wrapping her wrists, giving her answer to her scales as much as to Kurama.

"When I channel properly, with the right cues and the right information, I can track a connection. Follow it from one end to another. I used what you all shared with me yesterday to get started, but it was Kuwabara's stories that resonated most. One path in particular kept drawing me on to it, and it led to Hanging Neck Island." She finished with her first wrist, securing the cloth with a metal clasp before turning to the other arm. "I don't know if she's there. It seems… unlikely, to say the least. But for today, it's all I've found. If you think I'm wrong, I can try again tomorrow."

Silence answered her. She did not dare look up to work out its meaning. Perhaps they'd demand back their payment. Perhaps Urameshi would at last put Sueko's illusion to the test and beat them to a pulp. Perhaps they'd simply walk away.

Or… perhaps they were too desperate to give up yet.

"Could be worth a shot," Kuwabara said after a beat. "Maybe—maybe whoever took her brought her there as a sick joke."

"It would explain why none of the previous trackers could find her in Demon World," Kurama mused.

Kuwabara snapped his fingers, jabbing at Kurama excitedly. "Yeah! Exactly."

It was absurd. Surely they all knew it was absurd.

But no one argued.

They didn't dare, Nozumi realized. Their hope was too tenuous. Too precious. They'd cling to it with desperate tenacity until it shattered between their fingers, just as the opal had splintered in her palms.

With a curt jerk of his chin, Urameshi stood. "Pack up then. When we're ready to go, Kuwabara can dimension door us out of here. If she's on that stupid island, we'll find her." He headed off, back across the clearing to his own sprawled blanket. Kuwabara and Kurama were quick to follow.

Hiei was not.

He remained where he'd stood ever since Nozumi had regained consciousness, studying her, the gears behind his smoldering eyes turning. She finished binding her second wrist, then starting packing away her things. "Yes, Hiei?"

"Do you believe she's there?"

"I don't know."

Relentless, he commanded: "Guess."

She laughed, though it was bereft of humor. "No. There's no point. I can't try again until tomorrow morning, so we'll go there and we'll confirm if I'm right or wrong. If I'm right, you'll have her back. If I'm wrong, I'll try again. Guessing now gets us nowhere."

Her answer didn't sway him. He stood motionless. Statuesque.

"Beat it, Hiei," Sueko snapped.

A sneer broke his stillness.

At least their distaste for each other would never change.

"Oy," Urameshi yelled. "Pack your shit, Hiei. It's a big island. We should get a move on."

"Better listen," Sueko goaded. "I hear you've never beaten him. Wouldn't want him to kick your ass in front of us, would you?"

Nozumi startled, blinking at her sister in surprise. Had Urameshi and Hiei fought? She had no idea, and she'd have thought Sueko just as clueless. She would've gambled every gem in her pack on it. Apparently, she'd have been wrong.

Hiei didn't reward Sueko with a retort, he merely turned for the tree line and blurred from sight. Ten minutes later, he gathered with them at the clearing's center, Kuwabara drew his dimension sword, and a rift ripped into existence. Scared both that they'd find Yukina and that they wouldn't, Nozumi stepped within its maw, and—for the first time in her life—left the demon plane.

They arrived on Hanging Neck Island in the midst of a sprawling stretch of rubble, massive hunks of concrete and shattered stone forming an apocalyptic landscape around them. Kuwabara rubbed his neck in that sheepish way of his as he surveyed the destruction. "Found the finals stadium, I guess."

That comment was enough for Nozumi to piece together details from the stories they'd told her. This must have been the stadium that exploded at the end of their tournament win, when the human who'd orchestrated so much of it all tried to blow a hole clear through Human World to Demon World. When they'd spoken of their lucky escape, she'd dismissed them as dramatic, but seeing this mess, she realized they'd been truthful about the brutality.

Perhaps humanity was no better than demonkind.

"So," Yusuke said, squinting around the ruined arena. "You sense anything, Hiei?"

"Hn. No."

"Then what's the game plan? Is it worth looking around for Yukina? Maybe they're suppressing her energy somehow?"

"We have the whole day on our hands," Kurama answered, an eye on Nozumi. "We might as well make use of it."

"Maybe we should split up," Kuwabara said. "We can cover more ground that way. Find her faster."

If Yukina was here. Which Nozumi doubted more and more with each passing second.

"Ooh, I like it." Urameshi cracked his knuckles and swiveled to look out across the carnage. "I'll check the hotel. You two stay with them." He jabbed a thumb at Kurama and Kuwabara then jerked it toward Nozumi and Sueko. "Maybe check the other stadium. Hiei can cover the rest."

"As good enough plan as any." Kurama gifted Nozumi with the most polite—fake—smile she'd ever received. "We'll meet outside the hotel to make camp."

"Right," Kuwabara agreed with forced good cheer. "And if you find her, flare your energy. We'll all feel that."

Urameshi stuck out his arm, thumb thrust toward the sky in a gesture Nozumi didn't recognize, winked, and loped off, presumably headed for the hotel. Hiei followed suit, breaking east rather than north like Urameshi, fast but not breakneck—a speed Nozumi could actually manage to track. Which left the four of them.

Sueko sighed, brushing dust from the hem of her mauve shirt. "Well. Where's the other stadium?"

"This way," Kuwabara said, headed in a third direction. He made it only a trio of steps before he stopped, turning to look back at Kurama. "Right?"

A gentle laugh answered him. "Yes."

"Nailed it!"

And they were off.

They traveled in relative silence at first, Kuwabara setting a quick but manageable pace, but once they left the rubble of the finals stadium behind them and the branches of the quiet forest closed in overhead, Kurama slowed to match Nozumi's pace. She stared straight ahead, refusing to grant him acknowledgment until he forced her hand.

He was all too happy to oblige.

"Tell me," he said in that velveteen tone he seemed to so love, "how long have the two of you known Hiei?"

Behind them, Sueko cursed, so surprised she stumbled. Her energy illusion flickered, dimming nearly to nothing, and Nozumi was certain Kurama hadn't missed that—just as he'd apparently not missed anything else.

She glanced sidelong at him. Their heights matched nearly to the centimeter, and the sharp, glittering emerald of his gaze cut into her, peeling her layers down to the bone. "Ask him. Not me."

"I have."

"And?"

Tossing an apologetic smile over his shoulder, he answered, "He proclaimed Sueko an annoying pest."

"Asshole," Sueko hissed.

"Undeniably," Kurama agreed.

Nozumi dug her nails into the palm of her left hand, finding the old scar that stretched across it. "And what of me?"

"He won't speak of you."

"Fucking prick," Sueko snapped. This time, her volume wasn't muted. Ahead of them, Kuwabara glanced over his shoulder, dark eyes concerned. He'd been listening—there was no way he hadn't been—but it wasn't until Sueko's fury lashed brashly into the forest that he seemed willing to admit it.

"Hey," he said. "The shrimp is a twerp, but… don't talk about him like that."

Sueko's answering laugh was hurled with the ferocity of a thousand daggers. "I'll talk about him however I please. I saved his stupid, miserable life. He's in my debt until the day he dies. So fuck him. And fuck you for defending him."

"Ko," Nozumi warned.

"No. Damn it, no! He's an ass to you every chance he gets." Sueko flung an arm backward, and at first, Nozumi thought she was gesturing to the dilapidated stadium, but then, in a mocking tone, she continued, "Guess. Are fucking kidding? I should've let him die. It's what he deserved then, and it's what he deserves now."

At some point, they'd stopped walking. The forest had gone still and silent, not even a bird daring to chirp in the face of Sueko's wrath.

"It appears," Kurama said with droll mirth, "that I've touched a nerve."

"Fuck," Sueko screeched. "Fuck! You are all assholes. Every last one of you."

"Enough," Nozumi said, her patience evaporated. "Sueko, enough."

"Why? Because he could snap me like a twig?" She bared her fangs at Kurama, her snake-like incisors catching the dappled sunlight. "Let him." The vestiges of her energy illusion crumbled to dust. "Better still, toss us back into Demon World and find your friend yourselves. You won't, but oh, I'd love for you to try."

In two quick strides, Nozumi closed the distance to her sister and clamped a palm over her mouth. "Quiet, Sueko. You're not helping yourself, and you're certainly not helping me." Fire blazed in Sueko's eyes, but she made no attempt to wrench free, and when Nozumi was satisfied she was done making a scene, she released her and turned to Kurama. "I knew Hiei years ago. We were young. Kids, really. It's been decades since then."

Which was true. All of it.

But also, so incredibly meaningless. It wasn't their story, hers and the fiery demon who'd captured her heart. It was an insult to what had been between them.

"Friends?" Kurama asked.

She said nothing.

"Ah," he said, as if her silence had revealed more than words ever could. Perhaps it had. His attention shifted to Sueko. "I take it you didn't approve?"

She spat at his feet.

He stepped back neatly. "I've learned plenty," he said, seemingly to no one. "Thank you." To Kuwabara, he added, "Apologies for delaying us."

Kuwabara merely blinked back at him, dumbstruck by all that had transpired. Then he shook his head. "Uh, yeah. No biggie." He lurched around and started walking. "Not much further now."

Kurama followed after him without another word, and Sueko stomped in their wake, each huffing breath announcing the rage still simmering inside her. Only Nozumi lingered.

The cavern of her chest felt as though it was crumbling, falling apart like the shattered stadium they'd left behind. Chunks of her bloody, ragged heart had been wrenched from her body and put on display, not by her choice, but by Kurama's and Sueko's. Brutally and without her permission. She ached to rewind time. Not just the last fifteen minutes, but the last fifteen days. All the way back to when Hokushin's summons had first found her. Back to before desperation—and heedless, foolish greed—had turned her stupid.

Back as far as she could.

But such gifts were beyond her, and so at last, she forced her feet into motion, trailing Kuwabara as he hunted for a love that had abandoned him—following him to a heartbreak she'd never stopped living.