Page 2 of Dragon 7

I twisted the mask to the side.

One angle revealed rage.

I turned it the other way and the new angle revealed mourning. I tightened my grip on the mask.

Perfect.

I flipped it over and in the dark gleam at the inside of the mask, I saw her.

Nura.

Beautiful dark brown skin. Lips parted. The smile she had given me in my father's hospital room a fraction of a second before the bullet found the side of her head.

I blinked.

When will I stop thinking about you, Nura?

I set the mask back down on the table.

Probably never.

My hands shook.

I placed them in my pocket.

Maybe. . .I’ll become a real oni one day.

Grief was already hardening my teeth into fangs. Betrayal was already growing my ears and sharpening them into horns. This unbearable rage had already wrapped around my soul.

I crushed the rest of the lollipop between my molars and lifted my view to my brother.

Kenji stood across the war room with a hardened expression on his face—his own real life oni mask made of his flesh and carved from so many years of doing brutal things to become the Dragon.

He stared at the phone as if contemplating something that would change all of our lives forever. His thumb moved across the screen and stopped.

Moved and stopped.

Moved and stopped.

What’s wrong?

My brother never hesitated. He had been making impossible decisions since he was young. However, the man across the room was doing something I had never seen him do before.

He was stalling.

What are you about to do, brother?

I set my mask down and looked at it.

After this war, which side of the mask would I be left wearing?

Done with the lollipop, I pulled the bare stick out of my mouth and held it in the air.

A man in a black uniform rushed over with a small tray, took the stick from my fingers, bowed once, and disappeared toward the back of the war room.

Hmmm.

I scanned the other masks.