Not running. Just walking. Like the wind had replaced his spine.
Seungho looked at Hye-jin. She opened her mouth. He didn’t let her speak.
“Go downstairs,” he said.
“What?”
“I’ll call a car.”
“Seungho—what’s going on?”
He pressed a card into her hand.
“Wait in the lobby. I’ll have the concierge call a cab.”
She hesitated. “You’re gonna chase—him?”
“I’m not explaining it.”
“I deserve—”
“You deserve better than this moment. Please.”
A beat. She swallowed, stung and stunning.
Then she turned toward the elevator, fury sharp in her heels.
Seungho didn’t watch her leave.
He turned.
And ran.
??????
Mapo Bridge was a ribbon of steel and silence over black water.
The wind howled like a ghost choir.
There—on the bridge’s edge—Haneul sat with legs dangling over the void, braid whipping in the wind, fox mask hooked to his belt, back curved like a question the world never answered.
His bare ankles gleamed in the sleet.
He looked like a memory he didn’t know he’d lost.
Seungho stopped ten paces back.
His heart had never beat so hard.
Lightning cracked.
For a moment, everything stilled.
And Seungho stopped breathing.
Because he remembered—
An end?
