Morning came without fanfare-bleached, uncaring, a thin blade of light slicing across the concrete floor of the safe house. It was that kind of morning that pretended the night hadn't been full of fractures, that resumed its quiet machinery as if powerful men hadn't spent the last six hours in a panic, dialing numbers they never wanted to dial, and finding out the world wasn't as locked down as they believed.
Seo-yeon hadn't slept yet.
Sleep was an indulgence, and this morning indulgences were liabilities.
She stood at the slit between the blinds, the city blurring into soft, grim strokes. Cars flowed beneath her like quiet currents, people moved in clusters of tired obligation, neon signs flickered themselves off after a night of staining the rain-soaked alleyways with color.
The world hadn't stopped to think about what she'd done.
It never would.
But now it watched.
Behind her, Hwang set a mug on the steel table with the efficient care of a surgeon laying down an instrument.
