The Black Shell is in the reflection, once again taunting me. Inescapable in the twisted game he’s decided we’re playing.
I release a howl and slam my fist into the mirror before I can think better of it. My knuckles collide with the glass and shatter it into tiny shards that scatter everywhere.
Pain lances up my arm, finally the jolt I need to sober up. I blink and only find my disheveled self in the cracked reflection.
Wild-eyed, bloodied, a once disciplined man driven almost insane with rage and grief and the thirst for revenge.
It’s a man I never thought I could become, but it’s the man I’ve turned into.
I’ve been following her for hours.
From the moment she left her apartment in Seomyeon this morning to her journey into Jangnim-dong. I’ve been a shadow at her back—close enough to watch yet far enough to remain unseen.
I told myself I was protecting her. This neighborhood is dangerous, and she doesn’t know what lurks around every corner; she doesn’t understand the enemies that might target her simply for having been mine.
If I followed her—I lied to myself—I would be keeping her safe.
But it’s a form of selfishness I won’t outright acknowledge.
The truth is, I can’t stay away from her. I’ve tried my hardest, but every night I find myself outside her apartment building, staring up at her window, watching for the warm glow of her lamp to illuminate the glass.
Just so I know she’s safe and at home.
Most mornings, I’m ready and waiting to follow her throughout her day. The invisible presence she seems to sense lurking, but the man she doesn’t realize is still watching.
Monroe seems to think she’s rid herself of me and our relationship.
If she had any idea that I’ve catalogued her every move, watching her obsessively from afar, she’d probably be angry.
She’d claim I’m intruding on her independence and hope to start anew. She ended things, giving back the ring and telling me she couldn’t handle our relationship if I was so emotionally checked out.
You’d think I’d accept her decision and move on. I’d walk away and never look back.
But I can’t let her go.
Not in any long-term, meaningful way.
I’m as addicted and obsessed as ever. I need Monroe Ross—my Tokki-ya—like I need to breathe.
Sheisthe air I breathe. Without her, I’m suffocating.
Mild humidity hangs in the air as I trail her through the winding streets of Jangnim-dong, the afternoon light fading into the gray of early evening.
This neighborhood is a festering wound on the underbelly of Busan—cramped alleys reeking of garbage and piss, graffiti-covered walls, and certain clusters of men with hard eyes who track Monroe’s every move like the predators they are.
It makes my fingers itch for my blade as I watch from afar and she scurries toward Dok-su’s bar.
What the hell is she doing here?
There’s a level of confidence to her gait as she strides down the block and heads toward the same bar I had weeks before. Regardless of how bad the neighborhood is, she walks with a purpose, chin lifted and shoulders squared like she’s daring anyone to fuck with her.
Despite my fury, a flicker of pride passes through me. My brave little rabbit, walking into the lion’s den without a trace of fear.
It’s both reckless and foolish. But also impressive.
A reminder why this compassionate yet bold woman caught my attention in the first place.
I had initially written her off as naïve and stupid. Then, after tailing her and spying on her life, I discovered other sides that made her human.
