Page 73 of Apollo

As Wen whipped her scrutiny the other way, toward the “launch bay” in a logo’ed-out building atop a high hill, Apollo unfurled a puzzled glower.

“I . . . I’m not exactly sure,” he offered to her question. “This has never happened to me before.”

“What?” Weirdly but maybe not, she countered with a spurt of an exhausted giggle. “Putting in the wrong address for the tornado transporter GPS or pulling a surprise drop on pappy daddy Gojira?”

On the subject of surprises, his own soft laugh came as a more pleasant one than she expected. “Both,” he commented. “Though this is all so strange. I wonder if I’m overdue for a session with Psyche.”

She arched a brow. “How long ago was the last?”

He bunched both his own. “I think it was cold. I had to wear a sweater. Psyche made me compliment the space buns in her hair, and I didn’t get it. I mean, it was just hair.”

She rolled her eyes. “Okay, you’re definitely due.”

He looked around again, scowled harder, then scrubbed a hand down his face. “Right now, I’ve got to ping Kaw. Little shit told me they’d made it to Awaji Island—”

“Not Godzilla Island?” she couldn’t help quipping.

“Well, it’s also known as that. Except the illustrious Captain Kawstenos told me the coordinates would land us at a storage hut for a luxury rental villa, not a theme park runway.”

New noises blitzed them.

The first: a distinct thrum of massive wings, precursing the ebony crow to whom they belonged.

The next: a high but exuberant scream, all but muting the shrill zwip of the zip line pulleys.

I told you I’d activated the advanced locators, so that you’d land within scalable distance to Miss Steed and her beau, came Kaw’s telepathic reproof. I also mentioned that you might alight inside that storage shed, and to be careful about giant movements because . . .

Irowen didn’t listen beyond that. She’d eat crow to Kaw later for it, even evoking the hideous idiom, if he happened to finish the lecture with an awesome needs-more-cowbell take—but at the same time he started his chide, her gray matter gears kicked into high velocity.

Because the shriek from the zipline . . .

Hadn’t been just any young woman out for an adrenaline rush date with a cute crush.

“Genny,” she rasped, already sprinting toward the landing platform. Exhilaration had her breathing rough before dodging around the ten-foot-high black lizard claw protruding from the ground, adding to the illusion of the Monster King erupting from captivity, before she was forced to stop at a locked gate.

Luckily, the same gate from which her sister and a clean-cut hunk emerged a minute later.

They were so busy laughing, elbowing each other, and jabbering in fluent Japanese, they didn’t notice Wen standing at the side of the path. In this case, that was a good thing. She could freely observe them in their wild and unguarded state. Formulate a few observations—and questions.

Bizarre query number one: since when did Genny know Japanese this well?

Less bizarre query number two: did Quil and his guys misinterpret friendly teasing gestures as public PDA?

Much better query number three: was Ito’s guy simply hiding Genny on behalf of his boss and keeping her distracted and compliant as a friend?

“A friend.”

Though she issued the echo as barely more than a breath, the theory already sounded good. Really good. Way better than the idea of her sister laughing like that as the tattooed gang boy did not-friend-zone kids of things to her. Things like everything she and Apollo had just done to each other in the rain. No. Just no.

“Friends,” she repeated, using her locked teeth to underline the emphasis. Yeah, yeah; that had to be the explanation. Genny hardly liked hanging out with school buddies she’d known for years, let alone guys who flaunted tight satin shirts, designer black sneakers, and openly overprotective glares.

Except for the moment when the guy swiveled his stare back down to Genny—and overtly exposed another side of himself. The side extending beyond watchful and attentive—with an expression exposing a bold fucking truth about himself.

“Shittt,” Wen practically hissed—as the guy’s adoring stare struck her in all its awful verity. But by this point, there was no writing off the point as any other fact.

The young yakuza was goo-goo-ga-ga in love with her sister.

“Wennie?”