Page 105 of The Dragon 1

There was lots of it too. Coiled in looped bundles over his forearms. It was the kind of rope that didn’t belong to boats or packages or even construction sites.

Slowly, they walked right past our table and I couldn’t help it—I watched them with wide eyes, unsure whether to feel curious or breathless.

Kenji didn’t speak.

I glanced at him and he had a knowing smile.

Like he’d been waiting for this moment.

Like this was thetruepart of the date all along.

“What’s going on?” I whispered.

Kenji didn’t answer.

He just tilted his head toward the stage.

And so, I looked.

The woman ascended the platform in silence, the man moved behind her.

She walked to the very center—right beneath the iron hook that had haunted me since I first stepped foot into this garden.

O-kay. . .

The man knelt at her feet, carefully setting the bundles of red rope onto the wooden floor.

And then. . .he rose.

The shamisen player stopped mid-song.

The garden held its breath. Silence spread like oil across water—thick and glistening with potential.

That was when I realized that I was finally about to learn why that hook was there in the first place.

I was hyped and hypnotized.

Every inch of my skin came alive, tingling with the thrill of the unknown. My fingers gripped the edge of the table. My breath slowed, synced to the stillness in the air.

Whatever this was going to be. . .I was ready for it.

At least. . .I think I was ready.

Chapter seventeen

Suspension

Nyomi

The shamisen player stood, bowed once, and disappeared into the shadows.

Oh. He’s leaving.

The man in black moved without sound.

He carried the coils of red rope, cradled across his forearms. They were thick. He crossed the stage and walked right to that hook.

What is he going to do?