D. N. Angel Fan Fiction ❯ Jaded Chain ❯ Chapter 1

Series: D.N.Angel

Pairing: Satoshi/Daisuke

Rating: PG-13

Spoilers: AU. Very AU.

A/N : Fusing chapters, blah blah blah, just to cram it all together to clear the mess. (grin) I plan to complete this arc in three or four chapters so I can finally have my fun with them, ha.

Jaded Chain

Chapter One

January 1793...

London, Britain

On the second of January in the 18th century, France saw blood etched on the guillotine when its aristocrats, opposed to the Revolutionary Tribunal, were executed. On that day, an equal shocking blow was delivered to two young girls whose dreams were harshly crushed, when their parents were submitted to the guillotine. As the peasants rejoiced, only very few could grieve alongside the Harada twins, and the tears diminished with each passing day, just as the bitterness spiraled, enfolding their little hearts like a shawl. Thousands of aristocrats were being put to death each day, and they could do nothing, other than watch.

The possibility of the twins as the next objectives of the Revolution had family friends furiously working out the solutions for them since the day when their horrified eyes took in the realization that even children were not spared. Amid the chaos that ensued, the twins were successfully smuggled out of France. Their attempts to stay in the country, where they truly belonged, were all in vain as they helplessly watched fellow friends and relatives being sentenced to death one by one. The reign of terror was at work.

Risa Harada was unfamiliar with the streets of England, understandable for they had never seen the outside of France. Here they were, alone in a foreign territory, riding a carriage to a place she wished she knew where. But England wasn't that different, was it? She imagined the streets as that of France, where her favorite theater resided alongside with the tavern just right over there. Her mother had finally allowed her brown tresses to trail down to her waist, instead of the usual style of rigid curls on top of her head. She had dressed cautiously, she remembered, knowing that the chance of enlightening her genuine beauty to other eyes will not always fall into her hands, as that one did. She had deliberately chosen a gown of baby blue, richly embroidered with silver and violet threads that brought out the rare flecks in her eyes. The loveliness of the gown had taken Risa's breath away. In her daze, she dreamily envisioned a handsome gentleman, who would see her for the woman she was inside and not the tomboyish cover she had. He would sweep her feet away, and beg her father's permission to marry her.

For a single minute, she would allow herself to imagine.

Through Riku's eyes, the moment she drew apart the curtains shielding the window of the moving carriage, England instantly transformed into a magical world of exquisite gowns and shining jewels, France. Perfectly contented aristocrats and peasants roamed around the city, not to mention the bright lights that lit up Paris, a sight that she knew would not be easily forgotten. She brought her face close to the window and breathed fog into it, still keeping up the charade, where she smiled a small smile. For a fleeting moment she converted back to a child of five, savoring what her eyes saw. Risa, who sat on her right, took in her expression with a bemused look before glancing down at her clenched hands. Her eyes for a minute, misted over as she looked out at the utterly foreign country.

They both knew this wasn't France. Their uncle Nick had ordered them out of France, where they were to meet a total stranger, whom they were going to place their lives on. Whom they were going to live with, while all the people they knew were being executed here and there, back in France.

Reality was devastating.

"This Aunt Michaela will protect us, won't she?" Risa's voice broke into Riku's thoughts. "Uncle Nick said so, so we'll trust her... won't we? Riku!"

How could she answer her, when she had no idea of who this 'Aunt Michaela' was. Aside from the fact that she was English, and somehow related to their mother, they were completely at the mercy of a stranger, who wielded the power to change their lives, for the better or for the worse. Again, Riku's hand began to tremble. She clasped her hands together to hide her anxiety.

"Risa, I..." Riku stopped short at the pleading look Risa gave her. Play along, was what those green eyes said. Play along, and it'll be all right in the end.

Wordlessly, Riku could only nod her head, watching her sister's face slowly lit up.

"And Uncle Nick and Ned and Aunt Cecile will run away from France to England where we can see them, won't they? They won't have to go to court like Mother and Father did, right, Riku? I believe it'll happen, Riku."

"Risa..." Oh, Risa...

"Remember what Mother said, Riku? If you believe with all your heart, it will come true." Suddenly, Risa's tone changed. "And Mother's always right, isn't she? Riku, I know you're not convinced; I know you. An idiot, that's what you think I am. Don't shake your head like that; I can REALLY see it in your eyes!"

"Risa, no, I-"

"You're looking at me in that way again!"

"God, Risa, stop it!"

"Stop what? I am telling the truth, aren't I? You think I'm some kind of idiot who'll believe in anything she's told, is that it? Well?"

Riku glared at her twin. "What nonsense are you-"

"Nonsense!" Risa blurted out, her eyes narrowing. Suddenly, her face was beet red with fury and she wasn't quite so pretty anymore.. "Since when was the truth nonsense?"

"Stop shouting!"

"You're so nasty, and Father always never notices. Yeah, Father always liked you, but what about me? You play in the mud with all those boys, and yet, he doesn't care," Risa's voice became hoarse as she immediately launched into a tirade. And once she did, nobody was ever known to have stopped her. Even when Riku tried, she found it about as easy as trying to hold a house down in a hurricane. "Mother always dressed me in those tight dresses... Father still doesn't care at all! I could parade in front of him all naked, and he wouldn't bat an eyelash!"

Riku squeezed her eyes shut. "That's not true!"

Risa ignored her. "Remember last week? When I fell from that horse while riding? Well, Father carried me to that doctor and he was being so sweet about it," she continued animatedly. "He didn't even go back to YOU, Riku, he stayed with ME! He even bought me Sweet Candy from the ice-cream parlor, and it costs A LOT too. Riku, he kissed my knee while I'm in that hospital bed and he PROMISED to bring me to the House of Dreams, so take THAT."

"What are you talking about-"

"Riku, you think you're SO great, don't you?" Risa all but shrieked. "You get into fights at school, but you pass EVERY class with flying colors. You get detention, but ALL your teachers p-praise you! Well, sorry, Riku, but I can do that too - without landing myself in detention! While you're out riding, Father s-said I'm JUST as equal to you, so get. It. In. Your. Sixteen. Year. Old. HEAD!"

"Father wasn't even WITH us when we went horse-riding!" Riku shouted back, brushing angry tears away. "How can you even think of such things when everyone's in trouble back there? Stop making up all these lies or Father will look down from heaven and punish the both of us!"

Then, to Riku's astonishment, Risa seemed to crumple. "Oh, Riku," she whimpered, her eyes welling up with tears. "I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry, Riku. Didn't know what got into me... God, I'm sorry!" She threw her arms around Riku, her shoulders shaking with sobs. "Aunt Michaela... she'll... we'll be all right with her. Don't you worry, Riku, I have a feeling she'll be the best!"

"Don't ever say that about me anymore," Riku returned the hug just as fiercely. "Father loves you just as equally; I can't believe you can't see that. I don't want to get into a fight with you because of..." She couldn't continue. "Aunt Michaela will be kind to us, like our teacher, Miss Elizabeth is. Uncle Nick knows what he's doing, Risa."

Risa eyed her intensely, and Riku nodded her head, not trusting herself to speak. The memory of that night, where peasants filled the courts with monotonous colors of their clothes, their faces unquestionably twisted into masks of triumph and sheer spitefulness. Why did they gloat at the sight of blood? Why did they spit and cheer, while everyone was suffering? Riku had glanced at them with as much nonchalance as she could possibly muster, and studied their faces, trying to figure out just what it was that delighted them. They took her mother and father and placed them on the guillotine, for no reason at all. Riku never knew genuine sorrow until that night, and she knew it hit Risa equally hard. They sheltered Riku and Risa from the horrors of reality, and for that, she would never forget - or let go- her hatred towards the ones responsible for disrupting France.

I hate you, Robespierre.

Yes, she should hate him - whoever he was. Countless occasions allowed her father proclaiming Robespierre as the very one responsible for purging France into such great a trouble right now. Even though she had no idea what he looked like, it wasn't very hard to picture a grotesque, old man with a huge potbelly, coupled with a bushy beard that smelled of old socks; sort of like Santa Claus. Riku didn't feel even a twinge of guilt for insulting Risa's hero, since she had given up believing in childish fairytales a long time ago.

Someday, once France was eradicated of the vile insects that plagued the country, then that will be the time when she and Risa will return once more. Her parents will be given a proper burial, including all their friends, and the rest of the people whom the Tribunal had killed. The peasants wouldn't get away with it too, and she'll see to it that they suffered ten times more than her parents had. Logic argued that she alone couldn't stop the masses of difficulty that poisoned France, but was there anything she could do at all, to help those poor people being executed for something they didn't do?

Yes, she should hate him - whoever he was. On countless occasions, their father proclaimed Robespierre as the one responsible for purging France into such great trouble. Even though she had no idea what he looked like, it wasn't very hard to picture a grotesque, old man with a huge potbelly, coupled with a bushy beard that smelled of old socks; sort of like Santa Claus. Riku didn't feel even a twinge of guilt for insulting Risa's hero, since she had given up believing in childish fairytales a long time ago.

Once France was eradicated of the vile insects that plagued the country, that would be the time when she and Risa would return once more. Her parents would be given a proper burial, including all their friends, and the rest of the people whom the Tribunal had killed. The peasants wouldn't get away with it, and she would see to it that they suffered ten times more than their parents. Logic argued that she alone couldn't stop the masses of difficulty that poisoned France, but was there anything she could do at all, to help those poor people being executed for something they didn't do?

"Is there?" Riku buried her head in her hands, suddenly drained. "I want to... help!"

She slumped back into her seat limply, fingering a strand of brown hair as she watched Risa doze off to slumber. They rode the carriage in silence, as it jaunted on the streets of England, hundreds of unfamiliar people filling the streets with open joviality, apparently unaware of France's situation. Joviality and faith, something Riku realized with a sinking feeling, that she would never know again.

My friends...! Please be safe.

Normandy, France

He was a scruffy boy, his craggy hands biting deep into the smooth surface of the bar - the only obstruction that estranged him from his predators. The banister was cold, despite the warmth of the hall, and it sent chills into his already icy fingers. The convict standing before him positively radiated a malicious aura - because of the fact that he was suspended in here for a good five hours, or simply desperation; Satoshi didn't know. When he faced his adjudicators directly, a blend of exhaustion and irritated boredom was apparent in their crinkly and detestable faces, he knew it was easy to experience both at the same time.

"Nephew of the deceased Sir Franz Reginald, son of the former Duke and Duchess of Acquiesce, Satoshi Hiwatari, incontrovertibly charged with the murder of Pauline Ducette..." the prosecutor read on. The lists of charges against him continued tediously - assisting with the illegal transfer of internal organs to and from France; taking part in a satanic ritual that were supposedly meant to bring harm to the government ; brutally assaulting passersby, therefore, committing an act against the law, and setting the Reginald estate aflame. Nearly every accusation announced against him was fabricated, he wanted to correct that, but he was guilty until proven innocent. The evidence was too damning, and even he could see that it would take a miracle to clear his so-called fraudulent name.

"Officer Jacques, do you hereby swear to inform us of nothing but the absolute truth?" the prosecutor, Resident Paul Rombrount, demanded.

"I swear," the officer in the witness stand answered, glancing at Satoshi and leered. Satoshi remained impassive, though he couldn't help a little twinge of irritation. Oh, the bugs he would like to crush...

"Would you be so kind, as to tell us if this is the boy who had made an attempt to interrupt your responsibility to inspect into the Ducette household?"

"Yes, indeed he is," the soldier nodded savagely.

"You may elaborate on the matters, Officer Jacques."

Officer Jacques glanced at Satoshi again, and faced each of the jury before clearing his throat. "He... said that if... I my men and I should ever set foot into the mansion, he'd make sure we'd all 'perish in the flames of hell'." The audience erupted.

"Oh?" Resident Paul Rombrount mused, smiling slightly in amusement. "Is it not correct, that he voluntarily dragged your good men in a skirmish, even though you specifically established your warrant?"

"Indeed, he did," the officer admitted, looking rather piqued.

"And what happened afterwards?" inquired the curious Paul Rombrount.

"It took three of my men to hold him down," he looked somewhat sheepish at the memory. The other man glanced dubiously at Satoshi but said nothing. "But after the brat was apprehended, we investigated the household, and discovered the woman Pauline in her bedroom, lying on the floor in a pool of her own blood. It is confirmed that she had been viciously stabbed multiple times," he clarified.

"He murdered her," someone shrieked from the back of the room.

"Twisted by his sick nature," a woman added. Satoshi wasn't sure if he could restrain himself from marching to the woman and strangle her. In the end, he wisely chose to stay silent and feigned ignorance - which wasn't exactly an easy thing, given his ill-tempered nature.

"And what actions did you choose to take?" Paul Rombrount demanded.

"We removed the corpse and immediately issued an arrest on the boy, who was discovered trying to make his escape from the back entrance."

"Your men couldn't quite keep their hands where they ought to be, you outrageous liar," Satoshi commented casually, as if he was discussing about the weather. How wise of the man to keep that little tidbit tucked into his sleeve...

"Silence! Any sustained objections from the offender will have the case thrown out of the court at once," bellowed the old judge.

"What did you do next?" the prosecutor prompted.

"A quick search in the mansion led to secret documents, stashed away cleverly in Franz Reginald's mantelpiece," Officer Jacques revealed, his face grim. "We immediately recognized its numeric writings as one that belonged to the language of those... members of the Kiwatari family that have plagued our country with the forbidden Arts for several decades. Once we realized we have a potential menace in our hands, we had him sent to the Conciergerie, where he will not cause anymore trouble to our men with that... that curse of his." He pointed to his cheek, where it swelled a ghastly color of blue-black. The auditorium gasped with commiseration, and even Paul Rombrount's eyes widened in surprise.

"Such incredible force..." he pondered aloud, glancing at Satoshi's direction with renewed interest.

Satoshi just shook his head in bemusement.

"By retaining the evidence that Officer Jacques spoke of," Paul Rombrount waved the documents in the air. "You are automatically declared conspirators against our citizens, who are courageously fighting with their lives to crush those despicable aristocrats under their heels." He sharply turned to Satoshi. "Kindly inform us of your comrades' whereabouts."

"I would rather you not refer to my people as 'despicable insects'," Satoshi said evenly, though his eyes were finally alight with annoyance. Careful, he silently warned himself. He mustn't allow them the satisfaction of seeing him lose it completely. Satoshi gripped on to the bars in contempt.

Paul Rombrount was impatient. "Where are the others?"

"My friends are... safe," Satoshi replied carefully, his face deliberately blank. "Even if you execute me, they'll still remain alive, and away from the clutches of your likes."

"You do realize that we have other means of extracting wanted information from you whenever we want?"

Satoshi's mouth tightened. "I realize, that any means of trying to pry my mouth open would undoubtedly be in vain. Go ahead and try - you will experience allegiance like no other," he challenged.

"In other words, by refusing to let out the whereabouts of those rats, you are branding yourself an inclusive enemy to the country - therefore, you are entitled to a death sentence, boy?"

"An enemy to the citizens, yes," Satoshi calmly told him. "I'll gladly yield if it means they are safe, and away from your likes of you murderers." Upon hearing that, the jury sat up straighter, obviously anxious at that statement.

"Boy! Yer family lost their ties to the very soil of this country when they succumbed to Satan's evil!" someone yelled out from the audience, followed by murmurs of agreement. "Maybe this'll teach ya not to act all high and mighty."

Satoshi Hiwatari said nothing, merely stared at the person responsible for that statement. Oh, what sweet pleasure it would give him if he actually did have the absurd powers everyone had claimed him to have! Ironically, Satoshi couldn't help but smile cruelly, and said," let you be warned to watch your words with me, peasant. Or would you like a taste of the blasphemy you have linked to my very name?"

Clearly, an earthquake wouldn't have made a more outstanding impact than Satoshi's words. The courtroom literally erupted in disarray once more, with Satoshi watching the scene in silence. He didn't know whether to laugh or tear his hair out in frustration at the astonishing absurdity before his eyes. The jury was frantically trying to re-assemble the mess, so Satoshi chose that moment to gaze at the far end of the room, where the exit was. His throat tightened with impatience. How hard would it be to dash to that very door, the only obstruction between him and freedom? It wouldn't be too hard, he thought. No, he'd be killed before his fingers could even touch the wooden frame of the door!

Satoshi tore his gaze away from the doors, and settled it on the audience, some who had brought him to where he was today. Names and remarks scorched into Satoshi's brain, the peasants cried out, and while the refined contained themselves by whispering and exchanging rumors, they were just as unpleasant. Laughs, grudging sympathy, snickers and taunts, the jury made no move to stop them - perhaps they were looking forward to the end of the day, already worn down with the huge amount of cases they had just today.

Satoshi glanced at them with indifference, and studied their faces, so he could, one day, bring upon them the misfortune and humiliation he was subjected to. He wondered too, what they could possibly gain from this. Tomorrow, when he was sentenced to the guillotine, the death of a mere boy wouldn't make a single difference to their miserable lives.

France was a world gone mad, he knew. The country was so heavily in debt, the prices of stock raised tenfold from its original amount. The money printed on crinkled paper was literally worthless - the blame was immediately set on France's nobility, even though the class had long abandoned their prestigious titles. Their properties were ceased by the government, but it did little to lighten the debts that France owed. The idea of sending these convicted nobles to the guillotine - a scythe of equality, the people's axe - brought about great joy to those who once suffered under them, and ultimately toppled the wretched cycle of peasants and nobles.

However, like all aristocrats knew, the blood flowing from the guillotine would not bring food to the citizen's tables - it would not stop the poverty that had plagued France for so long.

Satoshi had seen enough bloodshed to actually be rendered immune to the sight. Such abnormality it was for a seventeen-year-old like him... but at least, both Riku and Risa were far away from harm. How incredibly fortunate for them to have such compassionate relatives to aid in their escape. If nearly all his noble friends were victims of the guillotine, then at least two of his dearest friends won't see the last of their lives like what Satoshi was about to experience. The moment he stepped into the courtroom, his forlorn future was inevitable.

He was just about to turn away when something caught his eye. Something in the audience... was that a flash of red hair? Satoshi stared curiously at that color, until he realized it was indeed hair. He could register the uneasy feeling that began to blossom in his stomach, although it was merely a hint and nothing more, not even enough to ring alarm bells in his head. I must be seeing things, he thought. Yet, there was red. Most definitely, red hair. Even the color looked startlingly familiar...

The person finally chose that moment to look up. Although it was brief, and the next second had the person look down just as quickly, Satoshi could finally feel fear and fury trickling down his spine. No. Satoshi fought to keep his astonishment from showing.

//No.//

Satoshi's hands trembled with rage, gripping the bars so tightly, his knuckles hurt. The foolishness. The idiocy! His vision blurred; he had never known overwhelming anger like this before. Yet, he was there - physically and actually there. That pathetic attempt at blending his form with the audience - and not having the brains to comprehend that merely the brightness of his hair was enough to contradict that! Who else but the fool - Niwa Daisuke! - would have the utter stupidity to come when even he should realize that he was knocking on Death's door the moment he stepped into this room? Realizing that his emotions were written on his face like an open book, Satoshi looked away and stared straight ahead instead.

//You're not supposed to be here, you fool!//

"... of brutal murder; plotting with the Revolution to corrupt the moralities of our beloved country; attempting harm on the guards; participating in the forbidden Arts; these charges are enough to construe the consequences of your actions." Satoshi's eyes narrowed. "Sixteen hours from now, you are therefore, sentenced to the guillotine."

Satoshi bit back a smile of cold amusement. Pompous fool, lacing the word 'guillotine' as if it were a gift from God! //When are you going to learn that He will never be on your side?// But the stark reality of his condemnation drove away all trivial things from his mind, and his amusement fled. There was not a way out of this, not anymore. This wasn't some game that Satoshi could easily cheat to gain victory - this was real.

And there was nothing he could do about it.

"The court is adjourned."

What ensued next was loud thundering in the courtroom that seemed to shake the very ground. Satoshi found himself yanked upright to his feet, his arm painfully gripped by the bulky hands of his captors. At least they made an effort to keep him away from the hands of those despicable peasants. He kept his face passive, even keeping himself from responding as one woman managed to get a hand in and rip parts of his sleeve off.

"No good filthy wretch!" she spat into his face.

Satoshi, as livid as he was, made no move to wipe the offensive spit off his face. He chose to stare hatefully at the woman instead, silently seething. So the wench thought she was better than him?

But before he could say anything, he was suddenly shoved forward, a not too subtle reminder to make a move on. It forced him to turn his glares to his captors, but as always, their faces remained as passive as ever, much to Satoshi's annoyance. He sort of wished glares could really burn holes. Then there would be at least, one justice served before he was sentenced to death, or whatever it was that the jury wanted to condemn him with. He was increasingly looking forward to the guillotine - he didn't think he could stand any more of the foul stench and conditions he was forced to live by during his time in prison. He didn't think his stomach could handle the blobs of grubby food that his captors thumped down in front of him without a second thought. It was a place manifested with rats which had him spending the first few weeks yelping at them, yelling and pleading, and finally, admitted his defeat as he let those species roam about in his cell. He shuddered from the memory. Satoshi most definitely didn't think he could survive wrestling with the vermin over his source of warmth - a dilapidated blanket that he wouldn't even touch if he wasn't so susceptible to colds.

Maybe the fact that his execution will take place tomorrow had its merits, after all. Satoshi had a little thought, and looked over his shoulder. As he had expected, there was no sign of his friend anymore. The runt must've miraculously sneaked out of the courtroom. How he did it, Satoshi hadn't the faintest idea.

//You're lucky I'm going to die tomorrow, Niwa.//

//Otherwise, I'll wring your scrawny little neck with these hands!//

Sergeant Nicolas Martinez tapped his fingers on his desk, realizing that if he didn't stop the tirade soon, a vein was going to burst. His eyebrow twitched, when he tried to get in a word edgewise, but of course, was drowned out by the sheer shrills of the brat's voice. And what a peculiar brat he was, dressed in tattered garments... and that hair! Nicolas Martinez sat up straighter. An alarming shade of red it was, he observed, nodding absently at the tantrum the boy was currently exhibiting. He had never seen color like that before. Perhaps if he could make a fair deal with the boy, to trade in that hair for a little sum of money.

"My brother is in there, and gonna die tomorrow!" the boy was wailing loudly. "Let me see him one more time, to say goodbye, or I'll never rest in peace! Momma is crying her eyes out at home, and if I don't bring one keepsake home, she's going to clout my poor ears again!"

Nicolas Martinez had been shuffling his paperwork - or more likely, trying to - but evidently, the man had a soft spot for mistreated brats like him. Heck, he even had a bony boy under his wing, until his wife took a liking to beating him - for insolence, she had claimed - before he ran away. He'd thought of beating her senseless, but he didn't think he could stand her tantrums, so instead, he kept his mouth shut. It'll be a pity if the same thing should happen to this brat here. Why not just let this boy see his brother?

Because he looks suspicious, Nicolas Martinez admitted. Even though he was dressed in rags, his lily white hands showed absolutely no signs of daily hard work, no lines to tell the hardship the brat had to endure. Boys of his tender age were thrown out and into the fields to plow land, a sign of budding heftiness. This boy, however, had face as fair as a newborn baby's, damn if it weren't!

Then again, it may be because he looked so much like a goddamned girl. What do I care, he grunted inwardly. Anything for the brat to get a move on.

"All right, all right," he held a hand up, silencing the boy. The room was blissfully shrouded in silence once more. "You can see your brother. But only for half an hour, you understand me? If I see you doing anything in there, I'll personally throw you in jail myself."

The boy began hopping around in joy. The Sergeant's headache grew worse. "Who're you looking for?" he demanded in exasperation, leafing through the piles of papers.

"A boy called Satoshi! That's him."

Nicolas Martinez paused for the moment. The name sounded oddly familiar... he was sure he couldn't have forgotten such an uncommon name like that. Then it clicked. The Kiwatari Satoshi! The skinny runt who'd humiliatingly trampled all three of his guards in prison the other day. Though he was frustrated by the events, there was no denying that the boy, at least, had spunk. Anyone who could achieve such an accomplishment despite the conditions they're in earned his admiration, all right. That was before he set those cold, callous eyes on him, though... He turned incredulous eyes on the boy in front of him.

"You two don't look a single bit alike," he affirmed, looking over the boy critically. Probably a feet shorter, he decided. About as skinny, oddly huge - naïve - eyes, and the hair. One must not forget the hair. The laughably bright red hair.

"We have different mothers," he replied readily, shoving his hands in his pockets. The sergeant noticed that there were holes in them. "But we're really close." He squeezed his eyes shut. "Can I see him now? Huh, can I? Please!"

The shrill tone instantly brought back the wave of headache, hammering his head. Stifling a groan, he shook his head and waved dismissively," All right, brat! Just stay the hell away from here, you hear?"

The last thing he heard was an ear-splitting "Thank You" before he collapsed onto his chair, cradling his head. He had a little thought, and looked up. "Hey, wait...!"

But the boy was gone.

"Huh," he grunted. "I'd like to see how you're going to find your brother if I'd never told you the cell he's staying in.