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.
She smiled. It was the same smile she used when a customer tried to haggle her down to half price. hatakeyama natsuki
“All right, Other Natsuki,” she said. “Lead the way to your Mirror Sea. But I’m not going there to return a fish. I’m going there to find out why a dead girl with my name is the only one who can help me.” It was the same sardine
“You misunderstand,” he said quietly. “I’m not here to help you. I’m here to make sure you don’t bring that —” he pointed at the sardine, “—anywhere near the water. Because if the Mirror Sea sees what you’ve become, it won’t just take the fish. It will take the whole market. The whole block. The whole memory of fish and salt and living.” Its scales shimmered with a deep, auroral blue,
For the first time, the boy’s obsidian eyes widened. A crack appeared in his perfect composure—something like surprise, or maybe fear.
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.
He bowed, stiff and precise. “Hatakeyama Natsuki.”