“So, you two aren’t going to tell me what’s going on? After everything we’ve been through together? I’ve always had your back.”
Princess planted a hand on her hip and rolled her neck to the side. Yao knew how quickly she could get annoyed—especially when she didn’t get the scoop she wanted. He didn’t care, though. She made money off their fights while he earned a few dollars and carried the weight of keeping people safe.
“That was a long time ago. We were kids,” Yao said, slipping his one good hand into his shorts.
“I’m heading home. Hope you two catch up.”
Apollo ignited the pavement beneath his feet, fire propelling him in rocket-like leaps as he vanished down the street. Yao tried to follow, but the pain in his arm slowed him. Sweat beaded at his temple as he realized he was alone—with their childhood friend and secret keeper.
Princess’s grin widened—sinister—and Yao noticed one of her eyes had gone black, flecked with sparkling yellow.
“Yaooo,” she sang.
He turned and bolted, summoning thin water blades beneath his shoes. On skates, he could outrun anyone—at least when he wasn’t hurt. He pushed off the wall, feet humming as he sped down the alley.
“Yaooo!”
A sharp pain exploded at the back of his head. He hit the concrete face-first as his water skates fizzed out. Dazed, he looked up to see Princess cracking her knuckles, her face suddenly aged and wrinkled. The sight made his stomach drop.
“Um, Princess… uh—I hurt myself practicing hockey a few weeks ago,” he stammered, forcing a weak laugh.
She crouched over him, one knee on his ribs, and cracked her knuckles again.
“You’re lying. I’m a journalist—remember? Respect me!”
Her slap came hard, stinging enough to raise a welt. Yao rubbed his cheek and glanced around. No one in the alley cared.
“Look, Princess—”
“Stop trying to protect me.” She straightened and leaned against the graffiti-stained wall, eyes sullen and distant.
Yao hated this version of her. It wasn’t a power or a talisman—just pure will. She could bend people without touching them. That scared him. He was logical, grounded; she knew how to unbalance him.
He stood and rubbed the back of his head. “Princess…”
“Just stop it. You two always treat me like I’m weak. Like I don’t matter. Kaitlyn too. I’m tired of it.”
“Princess, look at what we do. People get hurt. My arm’s broken because Nike sent her goons to remind me why we can’t leave the league. I’ll be fine. Apollo’s covering for me while I heal. That’s it.”
Silence filled the alley. Princess lowered her face into her palms, crying in short, uneven bursts. After a minute, she wiped her eyes, smoothed her dress, and looked up.
“You act like we didn’t used to work as a gang,” she said.
“Princess, you’re a thief—maybe one of the best. But in a world with SOCs, your skills don’t mean much anymore. We were the bad guys back then. Now it’s about protecting our families.”
She didn’t reply. The wind rattled flyers and kicked a plastic bag down the alley. Yao hesitated, then softened his tone.
“It was good to be bad,” he said quietly. “You kept us in line. That’s why I call you Robin Hood.”
“And you know I hate that,” she muttered, biting her lip. “After juvie, we tried to turn things around. We split up—foster families, community service. You four went into street fighting. Apollo left us. I just wanted us to stay together.”
Her voice trembled but steadied. “I won’t write about it. Nike lets me keep my job because she sees all press as positive.”
“We knew,” Yao said. “Well—I knew. Go home. I’ve got loose ends at the club, like getting paid.”
“There you go—protecting me again.” She forced a smile. “I’ll catch you guys later.”
As she turned the corner, Yao exhaled, then looked toward the other end of the alley. A figure stood in the shadows, dressed in blue. She lifted her chin and brushed a strand of hair from her right eye.
“Hello, Miho,” Princess said, her tone wary now. “You know I can’t fight a sanctioned match. So I hope this isn’t an ambush.”
Miho stepped into the neon light—ice-blue fabric catching the glow. Her bob was sharp, her expression colder than the air around them.
“It’s not an ambush,” Miho said flatly. “Nike sent me.”
Princess stiffened. “Figures.”
Yao’s jaw tightened. “What does she want?”
Miho tilted her head, studying them as if cataloging evidence. “She wants to know who’s been talking to the press. Who’s been asking about the matches… about the talismans. Nike thinks someone’s leaking. She thinks it might be you, Princess.”
Princess laughed—a brittle, nervous sound. “Me? Please. I’m a journalist, not a snitch.”
“Reporters don’t usually ask about talismans,” Miho replied. “Nike doesn’t like questions she can’t control.”
Princess’s laugh faltered. “So she sends you to do her dirty work?”
“I’m not here to punish,” Miho said evenly. “She wants information. She gave me a choice—bring her proof, or lose the protection she’s been giving your family.”
The alley seemed to shrink. The neon buzzed louder in Yao’s ears. Princess reached into her pocket and touched the edge of her recorder—the one she always carried. Her hand trembled.
“You’d rat us out?” Yao asked quietly.
Miho’s gaze flicked between them. “I don’t rat. I work for whoever keeps the balance. Nike keeps the balance. Without her, the streets burn.”
Princess leaned forward, anger flaring. “So I just confess? Admit I asked a few questions about kids disappearing? Because I wanted to make sure we weren’t just entertaining Nike’s hunger for territory?”
Miho’s expression softened just slightly. “Bring her something she values—names, proof—or convince her you’re not a threat. I don’t decide your fate. I just deliver the message.”
“And if we don’t?” Yao asked.
Miho’s stare was cold as frost. “Then protection disappears. And Nike has ways of getting what she wants.”
Princess’s hands shook. She swallowed hard, then sneered. “Cute. Tell Nike—if she ever touches my family, she’ll regret it.”
Miho’s lips curved almost into a smile. “Noted.”
She stepped back into the darkness. “I’ll see you at the Ice Palace on Sunday. Bring proof.”
And then she was gone—quiet as frost melting into shadow.
Princess sank onto an overturned crate. “She’s cold.”
“She’s loyal to whoever’s paying the warmest,” Yao said. “Nike runs the heat.”
Princess’s expression hardened. She pulled out her recorder and pressed it to her ear, listening to the faint hum of her heartbeat. “We need to be careful,” she whispered.
Yao nodded. “We will be.”
In the distance, the bass from the club thumped like a second heartbeat. The city around them blurred into one truth: territory, survival, debt, and loyalty. Friends and secrets.
They’d survived worse—but Nike’s shadow felt longer than ever, and Miho’s warning left a cold weight in Yao’s chest.
He spat into the gutter, then helped Princess to her feet. “Let’s go get paid.”
As they left the alley, Yao glanced over his shoulder. Where Miho had stood, the air seemed thinner—like frost fading in the first light of dawn.