For the first time, the boy’s obsidian eyes widened. A crack appeared in his perfect composure—something like surprise, or maybe fear.
She tucked the sardine into the pocket of her apron.
“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.” hatakeyama natsuki
She smiled. It was the same smile she used when a customer tried to haggle her down to half price.
He bowed, stiff and precise. “Hatakeyama Natsuki.” For the first time, the boy’s obsidian eyes widened
The last thing Natsuki Hatakeyama remembered was the wet slap of a fish tail against her cheek. Now she was standing in a silent, rain-slicked alley in Tokyo, holding a sardine.
“It’s temporary,” the boy said. “Return the kuro-sardine to the Mirror Sea within three tides, and you can go back to your life. Fail, and the webbing will creep up your arms, over your chest, across your face. On the third sunrise, you’ll sprout gills and drown in the air.” “You misunderstand,” he said quietly
And Hatakeyama Natsuki—the Ferry’s Keeper, the dead boy with the living name—had no choice but to follow.