Chapter Six #2
I could blame it on how often I’d moved countries, or my teachers, or my human father, or Hyebin, or Yejun, or even Jihoon …
but I was the common denominator in every equation.
I thought of the bracelet Jihoon had given me, now lost in the mud at the bottom of a stream.
People trusted me with beautiful things, and I destroyed them.
“I want to try again,” I said quietly. When Hyebin didn’t respond, I looked up. “I want to try again,” I repeated, my eyes damp. “Let me start over. I’ll be better, I—”
“Go home, Mina,” Hyebin said. Her eyes were no longer angry, but somehow that was even worse. As if she’d finally realized I wasn’t worth her time.
I hung my head so I wouldn’t have to see her walk away. When the sound of her footsteps had faded, I folded forward into the puddle and let my tears fall.
I could almost feel Hana then—her hand on my back, stroking my hair, wiping my tears with her sweater sleeve.
It was too faint to be a memory, more like the soft hands of a dream, as real yet intangible as moonlight on my cheek.
Mina, she whispered. And maybe it was nothing more than a wish, or maybe it was one of the torn shreds of another timeline fluttering past me in the wind.
Of this I was certain: Hana had loved me in a way that Hong Gildong could never erase.
When you’re ready, come find me, she’d written. I will keep you safe.
I thought of her silhouette in Yejun’s photograph from Timeline Alpha, and how the version of me that sat across from her had looked so calm and bright. Maybe, in that life, with Hana by my side, I’d been someone better. Smart, skilled, strong.
I rose to my feet, and the ghostly hands fell away. I was shivering and damp and alone.
“I’m ready,” I whispered.
About a block from headquarters, I realized that someone was following me.
I’d just dropped off my clothes and grabbed my school bag, then hurried outside so I wouldn’t risk running into Hyebin again. I’d planned to go home and study calculus until I crushed the shame of failing Hyebin under indefinite integrals, but it seemed that the universe had other plans for me.
Hyebin said descendants had predator senses, and while I doubted I could so much as scare a pigeon if my life depended on it, I still had an innate ability to sense when someone was watching or following me. Of course, one of the only dragon senses I’d inherited was paranoia.
I took a sudden left turn, and sure enough, the figure followed me.
I could hear their fluttering heartbeat as I took off faster, speed-walking into the Eungam subway station.
I rushed down the stairs and fumbled for my T-money card as I hurried through the turnstiles, just barely sliding through the train doors before they closed.
I watched the station flash away in the windows as the train glided smoothly into the dark tunnel. At last, there was silence.
Still, I couldn’t bring myself to move, clinging with sweaty hands to the metal pole.
I thought of the neutralization mission, how maybe today was the day that sealed my fate as a failed descendant and now Hyebin and Hong Gildong were after me.
I felt dizzy, so I pressed my forehead to the cool metal pole to ground myself.
When the doors opened up at Hapjeong Station, I hurried across the platform before I could get stuck behind any ajummas and vaulted up the stairs two at a time.
I slipped through the closing doors of another train and dropped into the closest seat.
If anyone was following me, I’d definitely lost them now.
My heartbeat hammered in my chest as I imagined the feeling of my tortoiseshell box crunching between my teeth, scratching down my throat, my whole body turning to dust.
Then, as the train took off again, I heard it.
A heartbeat.
At the other end of the train, the shadow had found me.
I straightened up, suddenly wide awake with adrenaline. When the doors opened at Hongik University, I raced out of the car, past the subway bakery, past the vendors selling shoes, past the racks of discounted clothing that I nearly toppled as I tried to escape.
Mina, a voice whispered.
I froze, tripping the people behind me in the crowd.
If the descendants wanted me dead, they wouldn’t have given me time to run. I thought of the photograph in my backpack, the girl just about to turn around in the sunlight.
Maybe I wouldn’t have to find Hana. Maybe she would find me first.
A hand closed around my wrist.
I screamed, right in someone’s ear, and a man screamed back in mine. We fell against the tiled walls as I wrenched my arm away, reaching for my tortoiseshell box.
The stranger straightened up, his blond hair glowing white under the station lights.
“Kim Yejun?” I said, shoving my box back in my pocket. “You were following me?”
“Sorry, what? I think you just blew out my eardrums,” he said, jamming a pinky in his ear.
I let out a sharp laugh, shaking my head. Though I’d wanted to personally feed him to Hyebin piece by piece yesterday, I’d take an annoying guy like him over a team of descendants trying to kill me any day.
I sighed and glanced at the exit. “I’m hungry,” I said, turning without another word and heading up the stairs
“Was that an invitation?” Yejun called after me, following even though I didn’t answer.
I squinted in the sunlight as I emerged from the station, turning away from the main road.
Unlike the wide streets of Eunpyeong, Hongdae was an area for tourists, so all the stores and restaurants were crammed close together and stacked on top of each other.
Colorful signs jutted out from every floor, advertising bakeries, BBQ restaurants, noraebangs, and themed cafés.
Clothes racks spilled onto the streets under thin tents, right next to vendors selling hotteok and spiral potatoes on sticks.
Hardly anyone drove through such a dense area, so the streets were filled with people instead of cars.
Big cities often felt soulless, but here, under the kaleidoscope of neon lights and the scent of crispy chicken and pork belly, Hongdae had a beating heart.
I strode toward the center, winding my way through the crowd until I stopped in front of a restaurant with star-shaped paper lanterns in the windows.
“Are you coming?” I said, glancing over my shoulder.
Yejun took a hesitant step closer. “Is that okay?” he said.
It wasn’t, not really. But something about sitting in my cramped apartment all by myself when I was supposed to be working felt immensely pathetic.
“You’re paying,” I said, shoving the door open.
A waiter led me and Yejun around a narrow corner to a small room with cool, pulsing lights.
There was no room for anything but booth seats on either side of the table, a window overlooking the street, and a button to summon the waiter.
Seoul had lots of restaurants like these, which were ideal for discussing things you didn’t want just anyone to overhear.
Yejun slid into the booth across from me and set his bag down. “Mina,” he said, “I—”
“I want yangnyeom chicken,” I said, pointing to the menu. “And cheese tteokbokki.”
He nodded quickly and scanned the menu before calling the waiter back.
I sat in silence, staring at the table while he ordered.
Yejun must have read my mood, because he wisely allowed me to stew without saying a word.
I didn’t talk until the soju came, then poured us both a shot and shoved his glass at him.
“Jjan,” I said as I raised my glass, staring him dead in the eye. He winced at the eye contact.
“I’m nineteen, you know,” he said after taking his shot.
“Congratulations.”
“I’m older than you,” he pressed.
“That’s why you’re paying.”
“You’re not supposed to look at me when you drink.”
“I’m not supposed to be talking to you at all,” I said.
He smirked. “Fair enough. So what changed your mind?”
My eye twitched at the memory of the bride going up in flames. “I’m asking the questions right now.”
“Okay,” he said with a shrug. His eyes were so big and earnest. I glared down at the menu again rather than look at him.
“Where did you get that picture of me in the board game café?” I said, tugging at my sleeves.
“The restaurant,” he said as the waiter returned with tteokbokki. He smiled politely and served me before serving himself.
“What restaurant?” I said after the waiter shut the door.
“The restaurant,” he said, picking up a piece of tteokbokki and admiring the long pull of mozzarella before plopping it on his plate.
“The one that sits outside of time. Anything inside it isn’t impacted by timeline changes.
Any pictures on your phone would be deleted once it reconnected outside the restaurant, but paper photographs stay the same.
All those pictures were in the shoe rack. ”
I grimaced, pouring myself another shot. That meant I’d been unknowingly carrying around paradox paraphernalia, which was definitely a crime.
“But why was there a picture of me?” I said.
Yejun frowned. “I don’t know,” he said, twirling the cheese around one of his chopsticks. “I know that’s a bad answer—”
“It’s not an answer at all.”
“—but I don’t have a better one for you. The timeline wipes my memory just like everyone else’s.”
How convenient, I thought, putting more tteokbokki on my plate so Yejun couldn’t take the part with all the cheese.
Did he honestly think I would agree to his plan when he wouldn’t explain a thing?
I didn’t know what I’d expected him to say, but it looked like all I was going to get out of this night was some free food.