The gi of the people around me thrums in my ears and in my veins. My breath whooshes out of me. Ethan. His life force is . . . There’s another layer of gi pulsating beneath the quiet tendrils of his life force. I don’t understand. Human gi doesn’t have any discernible color—their gi is as faint as a soft breeze—but I can sense . . . something. A color. Or . . . colors? I can’t make it out. It’s obscured. What is that?
