Chapter Nineteen
The first step in Operation: Fake Kill Yang Mina was to make sure that the agent supervising the mission would be standing far away at the rally so he wouldn’t get a close look at our tricks.
Yejun’s solution was to feed a squirrel a peanut butter and honey sandwich a few days in the past, which rendered it so full that it fell asleep instead of darting in front of someone’s car and causing a fender bender.
Without the accident, the rear car didn’t realize that he needed his brakes checked.
He wouldn’t figure it out until the morning of the rally, when he’d skid through an intersection and slam into an ice cream truck.
The whole intersection would have to be shut down, and the supervising agent would get caught in the traffic jam, making him show up late to the rally and unable to get a good vantage point.
Then, of course, there was the matter of making sure Yejun didn’t have to actually kill me.
The most logical way to ensure my safety in that regard was, of course, by patching up a hole in an alley outside an Italian restaurant one day in the past. The mice that normally snuck scraps out of the kitchen had no choice but to hunt for food elsewhere, and a trail of breadcrumbs led them to a bakery, where they cleared out the cranberry bin in record time.
As a result, the bakery made a batch of chocolate chip muffins rather than their usual cranberry muffins.
The assistant at the firearms desk at headquarters bought one, assuming it was cranberry, and accidentally ate four chocolate chips, which triggered a migraine.
When Yejun came by that morning to check out his live rounds and a Kevlar vest, the assistant was too dizzy and distracted to realize he’d given Yejun blank rounds instead.
“Are you sure these are blanks?” I said, rolling one of the tiny golden cylinders between my fingers as Yejun loaded his gun in the alley outside Caffebene. “This still looks like it could kill me.”
“I’m positive,” Yejun said. “There’s no projectile on top. You see how it just looks like a tube instead of a little rocket?”
I passed it back to him, unconvinced.
“Hyebin never showed you blanks?” Yejun asked.
I shook my head. “Can’t do target practice with blanks. I must have used them at some point, though. I’ve seen those somewhere.”
Yejun handed me the Kevlar vest, which I stuffed into my backpack, then we parted ways so we could both get ready for the rally that night.
I managed to choke down some instant ramen for dinner, then strapped on the Kevlar vest, followed by a plastic bag of corn syrup, water, and red food dye, which I secured with packing tape to my abdomen.
I pulled Hana’s baggy pink-and-orange sweater over the top to hide it all, then practiced walking like I wasn’t wearing a Kevlar corset.
In my front holster, I had the gun I’d signed out of headquarters that morning, since as far as anyone else knew, I fully intended to kill Min Sungho.
I hated the weight of an actual loaded gun against my skin and was sure that despite all the firearm training, I was going to accidentally shoot my own toes off.
When I got to the rally, Yejun would shoot a blank at me, breaking the blood bag but hopefully not any ribs. I would play possum until the crowd dispersed, and then I’d commence my hour off grid.
I can do this, I told my reflection as I slipped on my shoes and grabbed my backpack off the floor.
I was fairly certain I wasn’t supposed to take something as big as a backpack to a political rally where security would be tight, but my purse still smelled like pork thanks to my failed attempt at ruining my date with Jihoon.
I cast one last glance in the mirror at my skunk-streaked hair and headed into the night.
I kept double-checking that my wallet was in my bag as I walked, irrationally afraid that Hana’s note was going to disintegrate the moment I couldn’t see it.
I’d hoped the note would give me courage, but Hana felt strangely far away today.
Even though I was wrapped in her sweater, I didn’t feel like she was hugging me like usual, as if the Kevlar was shielding me from both the bullets and her touch.
I took the subway, which was packed with people holding signs for the political rally. The train car rocked me back and forth, and I did my best to tug my sweater down, paranoid that someone would notice my gun.
When I finally arrived, I followed the crowd out of the subway station and up to the main street, which was lit with so many streetlights and neon signs that it might as well have been broad daylight, even though the sun had already set.
I locked eyes with Yejun, who was waiting for me on the stairs, just as we’d planned.
I walked up to him and angled myself so I was facing the street, where the supervising agent would get a clear view of all the blood but not much else.
When Min Sungho headed down the walkway, I would make a show of preparing to shoot and then changing my mind and trying to leave, at which point Yejun would grab me, I would resist, and he would fire his blank at me.
“Showtime?” I said with a small smile.
“Showtime,” Yejun echoed, not meeting my gaze. His eyes darted around the rally, his fingers twitching and tugging at the sleeves of his jacket. He had always seemed so at ease, but now it seemed like his bones were trying to shake free from his body.
“What’s wrong?” I said.
“Is that a serious question?” he said. “This is kind of an important mission.”
“What, you think you’ll miss?” I said, smirking and poking his stomach.
But he didn’t return my smile. “A lot of things could go wrong,” he said. “We could get caught. Or maybe the supervising agent will see through it, or the blood bags won’t go off, or—”
“You have scripted hundreds of intricate scenarios,” I said, “and now, of all times, you decide to drop your ego?”
He grimaced. “I’m nervous.”
“You’re not the one getting shot.”
“Mina,” he groaned. “Don’t say that.”
The noise of the crowd increased as a black car pulled up at the end of the walkway.
Min Sungho must have arrived, judging by the swarming security guards.
I scanned the crowd, being sure to look in the direction of the supervising agent, then tracked Min Sungho with my gaze as he began to ascend the walkway.
I slipped a hand into my jacket, as if to grab my gun, then let my shoulders droop and turned to Yejun.
“In a dramatic turn of events, I have realized I am too kind and gentle a soul to do it,” I said, keeping my expression forlorn even as my words were ridiculous. “I have no option but to betray the descendants. Whatever will you do, Yejun-ssi?”
Yejun only grimaced, unmoved by my melodramatics. I sighed and took a step closer. Soon, Min Sungho would be right in front of us.
“Go ahead,” I whispered to Yejun. “I’m ready.”
Yejun took a steadying breath, then withdrew his gun from the holster and pressed it to my stomach, shielding it with his coat. I braced for the impact of the blank, but he only let out an unsteady breath and rested his forehead against mine.
“Yejun?” I said. “Uh, you probably shouldn’t let the supervising agent see this.”
“Blanks are still dangerous, especially at this range,” Yejun said.
“That’s what the Kevlar is for,” I said, frowning.
“It could still hurt you.”
“I mean, maybe, but I wouldn’t die,” I said, shrugging.
It was the wrong thing to say. Yejun tensed up, then lowered his gun. “I’ve already hurt you so much,” he said. “I don’t want to hurt you anymore.”
“Yejun—”
“Mina, I can’t,” he said, cupping my cheek with one hand. “Don’t you see? Ever since the very first time around, that’s always been the problem. I can’t hurt you, no matter how much I need to.”
His words didn’t sink in until he zipped up his jacket, hiding his holster, and I realized that he was actually going to refuse to shoot me.
The voices in the crowd rose as Min Sungho approached, flanked by security. He would walk by us soon, and the moment Yejun was supposed to kill me would pass. The supervising agent would seize us both, and I would never find Hana.
“Let’s go and get a head start, Mina,” Yejun said. “If they’re going to take us down, let’s at least make it hard for them.”
I shook my head, looking around frantically. “We can’t leave yet,” I said. “You have to do it, or else—”
My next words died in my throat.
A girl with a hood pulled over her face was pushing toward us.
The rest of the crowd faded into the background, all their voices blurring together into a drone, their faces melting away. The empty feeling of Hana’s absence had lifted. The girl in the crowd had dark hair that turned coppery in the sunlight, a silver watch on her wrist.
“Mina, I won’t do it,” Yejun said, starting to sound frustrated instead of sad. “I can’t.”
The girl drew to a stop five feet away from us. Her hair blew around her face, her hood hanging over her eyes. I wanted to run toward her, but I couldn’t move at all.
“Hana?” I whispered.
Then she squared her stance, raised a gun at me, and pulled the trigger.
The impact tossed me back into Yejun. Even through the Kevlar vest, it was like a solid punch to the ribs that forced all the air out of my lungs.
For a moment, I couldn’t think of anything except trying to draw in air.
My side felt cold and wet, my whole body trembling with adrenaline.
Had I actually been shot, or was it just the blood bag bursting? I was too numb to tell.
Yejun seemed to wonder the same thing, for as he caught me, one hand slid under my sweater and to my abdomen, worming beneath the Kevlar, his fingers cold against my skin. I knew, when I felt his fingers on smooth, unbroken skin, that it was only the fake blood.
I looked up at where Hana had been, but she was gone. I tried to recall her face, but with her hood down, I hadn’t gotten a good look, and now all I could imagine was a black hole, an abyss instead of answers.