“I guess not.” Ethan huffs a small laugh. “It’s strange, though. I’ve never been back in Korea, but it all somehow feels ... familiar.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean.” It feelstoofamiliar.
I lower my gaze and suppress the memories clamoring to rise to the surface. I feel my mother’s presence here, but I don’t let myself acknowledge it. Not yet. I can’t avenge Ben if I fall apart. I can’t keep Ethan safe.I’m sorry, Mother.
We reach the base of the mountain. As I suspected, the seonangdang is just an old tree decorated with strips of blue, red, yellow, white, and black fabric. But I inhale a sharp breath as something brushes against my life force. There’s no such thing asjustan old tree. Its girushes forth, imbued with wisdom and strength. I should know better. Nature is powerful in its own right and should never be taken lightly.
“Does this mountain somehow lead into North Korea?” Ethan asks as we hike up the narrow path through the woods. “You fell asleep on the plane before I could ask you anything.”
“No, there’s a secluded beach over this—”
The hair on the back of my neck rises. I suck in a sharp breath, glancing swiftly left and right. After a moment, I exhale and unclench my fists. I sense no immediate danger. Other than the trees and the wildlife, it’s only us on the mountain.
“Sunny.” Ethan grips my hand, his gaze sweeping the woods. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” I felt something, but ... it must be my paranoia flaring up. “We should be able to find a cave at the beach that’s connected to an abandoned mine. One of the tunnels inside leads all the way into North Korea.”
“That’s why you wanted to know whether I was claustrophobic.”
I nod, still on edge. Maybe I’m more spooked by the gimbap halmeoni’s warning about old spirits than I want to admit.
For there to be life, there must be death. This balance is immutable—a fundamental truth. Underworld is as much a part of the source of life as Mountains, Sky, and Water. But its gi stems from the loss and sorrow of death ... from the grief of those who lost their loved ones. That pain is born of love, so the resulting gi isgood—as much as the gi flowing from the other sources of life.
But sometimes grief becomes corrupted into something darker. It becomes han—grief perverted by resentment and vengeance into something that haunts the soul. The gi wrought from han is twisted and foul, and it feeds the stranded souls that humans callghosts. The stranded don’t do much other than scare the shit out of people, but they are ... not my favorite. Their gi feels off—cold and slithering—and they creep me out.
I shake off a shiver and walk on, with Ethan close by my side. His presence soothes my jagged nerves, and I feel more myself as we continue our climb up the small mountain. I pick up my pace. He keeps up easily.
I steal a glance at him. “Are you a runner?”
“Why?” He snorts, catching my drift. “Because I can keep up with you? You think you’re that fast, huh?”
“Iama fox spirit.” I shrug smugly. I have ... issues with being a gumiho, but I don’t mind it so much when I’m using it to egg him on.
“A fox spirit with short legs.” Despite his teasing, his gaze travels up and down my body with blatant appreciation. We both know my legs are long and lithe for my height. A blush rises to my cheeks. “You barely come up to my chest. You have to take two steps to match one of my steps.”
I break into a dead run. It takes him a second to catch up, but he keeps pace with me. I’m impressed and push him a little harder. I smirk when his breathing becomes labored. Taking pity, I finally slow down.
“Don’t feel bad.” I pat him on his shoulder.Pat, pat, pat.“You tried.”
“Pick on someone your own size.” He holds out a hand and lowers it,andlowers it, until it’s at his knee height.
“Asshole,” I mutter, the corners of my lips twitching. I can’t deny the man has a great sense of humor. Considering the circumstances, I’m shocked at how much I’ve been smiling thanks to him.
I’d forgotten about it, but I had a crush on a village boy when I was ten or eleven. Other than being mortifying—I was a stuttering mess when he was near—the crush was harmless and short lived. My thing for Ethan is starting to look a lot like that crush. A slightly more grown-up version, but a crush nonetheless. I’m sure it’ll be equally harmless and short lived.
Our breakfast on the plane feels like ages ago, and my stomach gives a warning growl. I unhook one strap from my shoulder and hug my backpack to my front. “Do you want some gimbap?”
“Yes, I need some sustenance after that workout,” he says with a grin.
I pull out the gimbap and shoulder my backpack again. The mouthwatering scent of toasted sesame oil assails my nostrils. Nothing smells better in all the worlds. I hold out the plate to Ethan, and he takes a piece of the sliced gimbap. I pop one in my mouth and moan. The sticky rice, marinated beef, and crunchy veggies meld harmoniously into a perfect bite.
“This is so good.” I stuff another gimbap into my mouth. “That halmeoni should get a Michelin star.”
“My mom made the best gimbap.” Ethan grabs another piece. “But this is a close second.”
He rarely mentions his mom. I resume chewing and swallow. “Do you miss her?”
“Every day.” He takes a swig of water. “I was eight when she died, and there’s a lot I don’t remember. But when I close my eyes, I can still see her smile. It was open and serene like the blue sky and green pastures. She smiled all the time and never lost her temper with us.”
