Chapter 2: The Last Sunset
The Kishida penthouse was colder than Kaden had imagined. Not the sterile, air-conditioned chill of a corporate lobby, but a deep, marble-sheathed cold that seemed to suck the warmth right out of his bones. It smelled of money—of lemon-scented polish and exotic, lacquered wood. Nothing like the steamy, pork-broth smell of their ramen shop below the apartment.
Aurora moved through the vast, open-plan space like a ghost, her black-clad form a darting shadow against the floor-to-ceiling windows that showcased all of Tokyo glittering below. The Hokusai sketch, a wave rendered in delicate, furious ink strokes, was already secure in the carbon-fiber tube strapped to her back. It had been laughably easy. The security panel by the main door had blinked a friendly green the moment Kaden input the code from the stolen tablet.
“See?” she whispered, her voice a triumphant puff of air in the dead silence. She flashed him a grin, teeth white in the gloom. “Told you. Sloppy.”
“We’re not out yet,” Kaden murmured back, his senses screaming. The Void, a low hum in his veins ever since he’d taken a hit to steady his nerves before this, was now a distorted choir in his head. He could feel the emptiness of the apartment, yes, but also the dense, concentrated awareness of the two guards stationed at the private elevator bank downstairs. Their boredom was a thick, fuzzy blanket. But something else was there too, a sharp, predatory focus that was moving, closing in. It felt like a sliver of ice sliding down his spine.
“Roo,” he said, the childhood nickname feeling like a premonition on his tongue. “Something’s wrong.”
“The code worked. The motion sensors are offline. We’re golden.” She bounced on the balls of her feet, vibrating with success. “Five more minutes and we’re drinking cheap champagne on a beach, I swear.”
She headed for the glass door that led to the rooftop helipad, their planned escape route. The door hissed open onto the windy darkness.
The rooftop was a sprawling garden, a manicured jungle of sculpted pines and towering bamboo groves. The wind whipped through the leaves, a sound like rushing water. The city’s skyline stretched out in a dazzling panorama, but Kaden’s eyes were locked on the figures emerging from the shadows near the helipad.
There were five of them. Four were large, silhouetted against the city lights, postures stiff and ready. The fifth stood slightly apart, smaller, poised. He stepped into a pool of light cast by a recessed fixture.
Kenji Tanaka.
He looked nothing like the ruthless Fixer Kaden had heard whispers of. He was young, maybe late twenties, dressed in a impeccably tailored dark suit, no tie. His hair was perfectly styled. He smiled, a small, polite thing that didn’t touch his eyes.
“Aurora McKinney,” Kenji said, his voice calm, almost friendly, carrying easily over the wind. “And Kaden Mercer. I’ve been so looking forward to this.”
Aurora froze, her hand going to the carbon tube on her back. Kaden moved in front of her, his body shifting automatically into a defensive stance. The four guards raised their weapons, not guns, but compact, wicked-looking conductive batons that crackled with blue energy.
“The tablet was a plant,” Kaden said, the realization dawning with a sickening finality.
“An invitation,” Kenji corrected. He took a few slow, deliberate steps forward. “We’ve been monitoring your progress for some time, Kaden. The things you can do… the glimpses you get… it’s fascinating. Raw, undisciplined, but fascinating. Void whispers to you in a way it doesn’t to others.” His gaze shifted to Aurora. “But her… she’s just clever. A liability.”
“Go to hell,” Aurora spat, her voice tight with fear and fury.
Kenji’s smile widened a fraction. “Eventually. But first, business.” He extended a hand. “The sketch. And the boy comes with me. You can walk away, Miss McKinney. This one time.”
“He’s not going anywhere with you,” Aurora said, her voice dropping low, losing its tremor, becoming something solid and absolute.
Kaden felt it then, a surge of protectiveness so violent it eclipsed his own fear. The Void amplified it, turning his blood to fire. He saw the decision flash in Kenji’s eyes a microsecond before the man moved. It wasn’t a signal to his guards. It was a personal, fluid motion, his hand going to his jacket.
Time seemed to warp, stretching and thinning. Kaden saw the glint of metal. He saw the intention, a cold, sharp spike aimed directly at his own heart. He started to shift his weight, to move, but he was too slow, always too slow.
Aurora wasn’t.
She shoved him. Hard. It was a desperate, full-body impact that sent him stumbling sideways onto the rough concrete. The world snapped back into real-time with the deafening crack of a gunshot.
It didn’t sound like it did in the movies. It was louder, flatter, a sound that punched the air and left a ringing silence in its wake.
Aurora made a small, punched-out sound. Not a scream. A soft, surprised “oh.”
Kaden scrambled up, his hands scraping on the ground. She was still standing, swaying slightly, her back to him. He saw the exact spot where the bullet had exited her chest, a dark, rapidly blooming flower on the front of her gray hoodie.
Then her legs gave way.
He caught her as she fell, his arms wrapping around her, sinking to his knees with her weight. She was a dead weight. So heavy.
“No, no, no, no,” he chanted, the word a meaningless prayer. He cradled her head, his fingers tangling in her hair—that brilliant, sunset-orange hair that was now splayed out against the dark, dirty concrete, a mockery of a halo.
Her eyes were open, staring up at the hazy, light-polluted sky. They were still bright, still full of her. But the life behind them was receding, pulling away like a tide.
“Kaden…” she whispered. A tiny bubble of blood formed at the corner of her mouth and popped.
“Stay with me, please, you can’t leave,” Kaden begged, his voice cracking as he pressed his hands against the warm, sticky wound on her chest. Tears streamed down his face, mixing with the rain that began to mist the air, and he rocked her gently, as if the motion could somehow keep her soul from slipping away. “You’re all I have, Roo, don’t go.”
She managed a weak, trembling smile, her eyes glazing over as she fought for each shallow breath. “I’m so sorry, Kade,” she whispered, the words barely audible over the wind rustling the bamboo leaves. “The beach… remember? You have to keep going… get out of this… for both of us.”
Her body went limp in his arms, the last bit of light fading from her gaze, and he screamed her name into the uncaring night, the sound raw and shattered. He leaned down, pressing his lips to her cool forehead in a final, desperate kiss, the scent of her orange hair conditioner faint beneath the copper tang of blood.
Kenji’s polished shoes clicked on the concrete as he gestured to his guards. “Take him alive,” he said, his voice devoid of emotion, and two of the large men moved forward, their conductive batons humming with energy.
They grabbed Kaden’s arms, trying to wrench him away from Aurora’s body, but a primal roar tore from his throat. The Void in his veins ignited into a white-hot fury, and he moved with a speed he didn’t know he possessed, driving his elbow into one guard’s throat. The man gagged, stumbling back, and Kaden seized his head, twisting with a sickening crack that silenced the night.
He didn’t wait to see the body drop, already sprinting for the rooftop’s edge where a maintenance ladder led down into the alley below. As he swung over, he cast one last look back at Aurora’s still form, her hair a stark splash of color against the gray, and tears blurred his vision as he vanished into the darkness.