Natsuki spun. A boy her age—seventeen, maybe—leaned against a dumpster. He wore an immaculate navy school uniform, not a single crease out of place. His eyes, however, were not human. They were polished obsidian, reflecting the alley’s single flickering light like two dark moons.
“And who exactly are you?” Natsuki asked. hatakeyama natsuki
The humming stopped. In the silence, Natsuki heard something else: the distant, rhythmic crash of waves where no ocean should be. Natsuki spun
It was the same sardine. The one she’d been trying to sell at the Tsukiji outer market before a rogue delivery truck had introduced her to the hood of a Honda. But the fish was wrong. Its scales shimmered with a deep, auroral blue, and when she tilted her head, she could hear a faint humming from inside its silver body. His eyes, however, were not human