Half-Sight

07 | escape

a/n

merry christmas everyone!! i hope you all have a restful day and are able to celebrate with any friends or family you might have :)

with that said, enjoy chapter 7 of half-sight and have an amazing rest of 2019. 

all my love,

krissy

♙

present day

hina ogawa

REN'S FACE IS everywhere.

Wanted announcements for Ren-shu Ko blur past my eyes as a detective's car takes us handcuffed and ankle-cuffed to the koban, or police station, in lower Minami District.

As if bolstered by our arrest, every screen in Osaka lights up with a furious blurs of reds, blacks, and whites. The police have the CCTV snapshot of Ren's face plastered on every platform possible, accompanied by a fat sum of money. And it's not just him. An array of portraits wrap the street sign. Snapshots from Goro's garage. Osaka Station. Tenshi Orphanage.

I catch the blur of kanji and know instantly what the characters shout.

HINA OGAWA. BOHAI TANAKA. KOTOMI GODA.

Officials are catching on. There are bounties on each of our heads now.

Ren must have seen the news. His mirthless smile flashes in my memory. Are you stupid? I guess I was, so desperate to leap out and prove my own fearlessness. I lean my head back and close my eyes.

Kotomi jabs my foot with hers. "Relax," she murmurs. "This is a normal thing."

"No." My eyes flicker open as a dozen posters flash. "No, it's not."

Minami's koban is a black-walled building with slits for windows and a flat, gray roof. Red-lit lanterns line the entrance. Already, the lot is crowded with clamoring reporters mass-herding camera drones for a better view of the city's accomplices to mass murder.

The door slams open. Arms drag me out into biting winds. I close my eyes as a dozen flashes go off.

"What are you relations with Ren-shu Ko?"

"Why would you associate yourself with such an act of terrorism—"

"Does Ren have any words for the families of the five thousand—"

Kotomi leans toward me as we're pulled through the fray. "Talk about a misled audience."

Another car door slams behind us. As if deactivated at once, the whir of camera snaps off, giving way to another domineering presence. Rounding the car is the same navy-dressed man from earlier, specs perched on his stubborn nose, face bright with a smile.

Shouts quiet to confused murmurs.

"How about we save the questions for Ren himself," he suggests pleasantly. Then he juts his chin toward the frontmost guard. "Go on."

They lead us through glass doors into a swath of gray. I register linoleum floors, old vintage doors cracked at the edges, steel knobs and reinforcements. Amber lanterns buzz overhead, attracting moths. Police officers stand to attention as we enter. I feel the deep disturbance in their gaze, as if they can't fathom how on earth the city's most wanted criminals could be so young.