Chapter Nineteen #2
Why would Hana shoot me?
I hated knowing so little about my sister. She’d used blanks, so clearly she wasn’t actually trying to kill me, but why would she shoot me at all?
The crowd had stilled at the sound of gunfire, and now everyone had spread out in a circle around me and Yejun.
“There’s blood!” someone shouted, prompting a few people to scream and start pushing away.
“Are you okay?” Yejun whispered, one hand cupping my cheek.
“I’m fine,” I whispered back, now that the ache had faded and I could breathe again. “We have to keep going.”
The crowd was screaming now. Some people were pushing, everyone rushing for the exit.
The police were trying to force their way toward us but couldn’t make it far through the packed crowd.
Yejun slipped one hand under my knees and lifted me up to avoid being crushed.
I yelped in surprise, clinging to him so I wouldn’t fall.
My face was definitely bright red as I realized how easily he carried me, which was a far cry from the bloodless look I was going for.
“You’re not doing a very good job at playing possum,” he whispered.
I managed to loosen my grip, then flopped over.
He stumbled, struggling to adjust his hold, and I swore I’d kill him if he dropped me.
He headed in the direction of headquarters, because that was what the supervising agent would want to see.
By now, the crowd was screaming and shoving in all directions.
Yejun tucked me closer to his chest, shielding me from the crowd.
Though I couldn’t see, I felt the change in temperature as he made it out of the crowd, ducking into the alley by the fruit market where there were no cameras, exactly as we’d planned.
He set me on my feet, his hands lingering over the fake blood, his expression pinched. I took his wrist and pressed it to my heart.
“It’s okay,” I said. “Just corn syrup. You can have a taste if you want.”
He laughed sharply and drew his hand back, then took his yeouiju from his pocket and placed it in my palm. “Do it now,” he said. “Before they catch up.”
My right hand closed around the ball of light, my left hand holding my own box of time magic. Blue light wound its way up my right arm, purple light spiraling up my left arm, the whole alley glowing indigo around us.
Yejun and I had shared magic so many times, but now I was holding his soul in my hand, and he’d given it to me like he hadn’t thought twice about it. I held it delicately, feeling the warm pulse of blue light in time with his heartbeat. I’ll take care of this, I thought. I promise.
“Go,” Yejun said with a smile, as if he’d heard my thoughts. “I’ll see you and Hana when you’re done.”
Then he stepped back, waving with a soft smile as the ribbons of light around me grew brighter, devouring the street and Yejun along with it.
I landed in an empty construction lot in the dark.
The bakery near the alley we’d been standing in hadn’t been built in 1988, so it eliminated the risk of me appearing on top of a customer. Around me, there was nothing but loose scaffolding and cinder blocks abandoned at night, remnants of coffee cups and footprints in the pale dirt.
I checked my watch.
1:58 A.M.
Only two minutes until the timeline would reset, and I would find out for sure if the ladybug theory was right, or if the refresh would obliterate me.
If this doesn’t work, I’m going to die anyway, I thought, hiking my bag higher on my shoulder and stepping carefully out of the construction zone.
Eunpyeong was quiet this late at night. All the shops were different in 1988, and some tall buildings were mysteriously absent, but I recognized it in the same way I was certain I knew Hana. Even now, no matter how much had changed, it felt like my home.
I squatted behind a dumpster and quickly shed the Kevlar vest and bloody shirt, dumping both on top of the trash, then pulled on a clean shirt from my bag and carefully tucked Hana’s sweater back inside.
I walked to the Bulgwang stream and stood on the footbridge where I’d stopped so many times to look at the sky.
It was a bit narrower now but had the same crop of purple flowers on either side, the same unhurried pull toward the sea.
If I was going to be wiped from existence on the hour mark, I wanted it to be here, looking out at the stream that disappeared into the horizon, the white foot-bridges, the pale stepping stones, the clean pinpricks of stars in the dark sky. I wanted to be at home.
I checked my watch again.
Ten seconds.
I closed my eyes, my hands tense on the railing, and took a deep breath. I could smell rain, and gas, and echoes of fried food, and dew on the grass below, and wetness on stones, and so many other pieces of home that I would miss if this really was my last life.
I counted down the moments in my head.
Three … two … one …
My hands tightened on the railing, then released. I opened my eyes and checked my watch.
3:00 A.M.
I let out a breath. A breeze tore across the street, jingling the ladybug key chain hanging from the zipper of my backpack. I was now the second Mina Yang, the second ladybug, flying undetected. All that was left to do was intercept Hana on the day I moved to Seoul.
I clutched my two sources of time magic tight in my hands, let them warm my bones, and wiped my mind of everything but a girl bathed in sunlight, her hand reaching out for mine, and the time and date when we would finally meet.
I arrived two minutes before Hana.
It was enough time for me to hurry to my apartment and beat Hana to the scene, and not so much time as to blow through my fifty-nine-minute limit before the timeline refreshed once more.
I walked in a daze down the street, unbothered by the crush of summer humidity or sunlight blaring around the skyscrapers because I was so close to finally seeing Hana.
Even though I’d since lived in this apartment and city for over a month, the day still felt exactly like the first day I’d arrived—my fingertips prickled with all the fear and excitement of a new beginning, a new life where anything at all could happen.
I knew, from the first moment I saw the glimmer of Bulgwang stream under this same burning sun, that this place was different from all the others.
I reached the officetel where my parents and I would arrive in only a few minutes.
I hurried up the cool marble stairs to the front door of our apartment, where the lock was set to 0000 before we picked up our keys.
I punched in the code and slipped into the apartment, into my room that was still only a bed frame, mattress, and empty nightstand, everything covered in shadows and dust.
I’m here, Hana, I thought, every muscle tight as if bracing for impact. Any moment now, she was going to walk through the door and I would finally know my sister’s face.
I was too nervous to sit on the bed, so I rocked back and forth on my heels, tugging at my backpack straps.
What was I supposed say to Hana when I finally saw her?
I missed you? But that was technically a lie—you can’t miss someone you didn’t know.
I love you? That felt even crazier, because how can you love someone you’ve never actually met?
But I felt the truth of it deep in my bones, in a way that time magic couldn’t explain.
The front door unlatched.
“Take your shoes off first!” my mom’s voice called from the hallway.
For a moment, I could only stand in the middle of the room and frown at the closed bedroom door. The panicked whirring in my mind fell silent.
This is all wrong.
I remembered this moment from the day we’d moved in. Next, my dad would say—
“Well, I can’t squat down like I used to! You’re gonna have to wait while I untie my shoes.”
I heard my own impatient sigh in the hallway, the sound of me rolling a suitcase against the wall and sitting down on it.
This isn’t how it’s supposed to happen.
The day I’d moved in, the note from Hana had been waiting for me on my bed. Any moment, the past Mina was going to walk in, and there wasn’t going to be anything here but me.
I messed around with the timeline too much, I thought, dread washing through me in a cold wave.
I thought of all the silly, pointless missions I’d gone on with Yejun, the paradoxes that ripped holes in the timeline.
I must have caused a butterfly effect that changed this moment, and now Hana wasn’t going to show up.
Or worse—what if Hana had finally gotten caught?
If she didn’t come now, everything would change.
That note was the first time that Hana had turned from a vague sense of loss into something tangible, someone I could believe in. What would my life in Korea look like if I didn’t even know Hana existed? How many times had I taken out her note for strength?
Maybe I wouldn’t have agreed with Yejun’s plan if I didn’t believe in Hana, but surely the descendants would have found another way to test me. If I never found the note, I might walk unknowingly into my own execution.
I set down my backpack and dug through it as quietly as possible until I found my English notebook, then ripped out a page. I winced at the sound, glancing at the door, but my dad was still taking his time untying his shoes.
I bit the cap off a pen and copied over Hana’s note as quickly as I could.
I had every word memorized, so I scrawled it all down without hesitation.
Hana would just have to forgive me for interfering in the timeline and impersonating her.
It’s for a good cause, I thought, moving to set the note down on my bed.
I couldn’t make a perfect copy, but this would be good enough.
I hesitated just before I set it down on my pillow.
It took me a moment to realize what had changed.
I’d grown so used to the constant ache behind my eyes that when it suddenly lifted, I felt strangely light.
My mom was wrong, it wasn’t a timesickness headache, I thought.
It couldn’t be, because that would mean I’d completed a time loop, when all I’d done was interfere.
I drew my hand back, staring at the note on my pillow, the torn edge of the paper that I’d ripped too far down the right side. But that was okay, Hana’s note looked similar enough.
I should have left then, but I found myself taking out my wallet and pulling out the real note from Hana, then laying it side by side against my note.
I’m just making sure it looks similar enough so that I don’t cause any more unintended ripple effects, I told myself, even though I sensed that something was very wrong as I drew my hand back.
The notes were exactly the same.
The one I’d kept in my wallet was more crinkled, but the messy handwriting was the same, aligned crookedly along the lined paper in exactly the same way. So was the jagged edge of the paper, the way my thumb had smudged the last line.
That’s not possible, I thought, my feet rooted in place even as I heard suitcases rolling into the hall. Hana wrote me this note.
The doorknob to my room began to turn.
I snatched Hana’s note off the bed and ducked into the closet, dragging my backpack in after me. I just managed to close the door before the other Mina entered.
I held my breath, peering through the thin seam of light where the closet door was slightly parted.
It will be different this time, I thought, clutching my backpack to my chest. It has to be, because the note is different.
But the other me sat down on the bed and picked up the note. I watched myself read it again and again, then jump to my feet and lock the bedroom door, just as I remembered. The other Mina sat cross-legged on my bed and took a picture of the note with her phone, terrified of losing it.
Don’t do it, I thought, holding my breath. Do something differently this time. Please.
But, exactly the same as the first time, the other Mina tucked the note under her pillow. She stared at the pillow for all of two seconds before deciding better of it, then dug her wallet out of her bag and tucked it in behind her ID to keep it safe.
I closed my eyes, pressing my face against my knees as the other Mina unlocked the door and strode back out into the hall to grab her other bag.
Hana was never here, I realized, my stomach tight. Hana never came to my apartment to leave me a note, never promised to find me, to keep me safe.
I left the note for myself.