Page 97 of Scarbound

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A faint smile appeared on his face. Not cruel or warm. Almost forced, as though he intended to prove something to his mother, or perhaps to himself.

The smooth glass doors of the elevator slid open, and Noeul stepped into the luxurious foyer. Chung-Hee was already waiting. The moment their eyes met, something inside Noeul tightened. There was no anger in Chung-Hee’s expression, no smile either. Only an unreadable darkness that sent a quiet shiver through him.

His feet stopped inside the elevator.

“Why are you standing there?” Chung-Hee asked softly, extending a hand toward him. “Come in.”

Noeul hesitated. Nothing looked wrong. Nothing felt dangerous. And yet every instinct urged him to leave. After everything that had happened between them, he no longer trusted his own judgment. How could he walk away because of a feeling? How could he reject Chung-Hee when the man had done nothing wrong today?

He swallowed and placed his hand in Chung-Hee’s. The warmth of Chung-Hee’s fingers steadied him for only a moment. As they stepped inside, Chung-Hee casually swiped his access card across the panel beside the elevator.

A soft click echoed through the foyer.

Noeul didn’t notice. His attention had already drifted toward the corner of the living room.

A shrine.

His breath caught. The table was beautifully crafted, every detail polished with care. Delicate gold patterns framed the dark wood, while two white candles stood on either side of a large framed photograph.

Haneul.

Fresh lilies filled the room with their subtle fragrance. Several of Haneul’s favorite snacks had been placed neatly beneath the photograph. Everything looked peaceful, almost sacred.

For a brief moment, Noeul forgot where he was. He took an involuntary step toward the shrine, his chest tightening.

“Haneul…”

The name escaped before he realized he had spoken aloud. He bowed instinctively. Once, then again.

His eyes lingered on the photograph. It was one he had never seen before. Haneul was smiling.

He reached toward the frame without thinking, his fingertips stopping just short of touching it. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

The apology came so naturally that he barely heard himself say it.

“I wondered whether you’d still apologize.”

Noeul turned. Something in Chung-Hee’s voice had changed. It was quieter. Harder.

He looked back at the shrine. Only then did he understand. This wasn’t simply a memorial. It was waiting for him. His heartbeat quickened. He suddenly became aware of how empty the apartment felt, how far away the elevator now seemed.

“I…” He took a small step backward. “I think I should go.”

He turned toward the foyer, but a hand closed around his wrist. Firm, but not painful.

Not yet.

“No.”

Chung-Hee stepped closer. “We haven’t finished.”

Noeul’s pulse began to race. “I’ve seen it,” he said, barely above a whisper. “It’s beautiful.”

“I didn’t build it for you to look at.”

The weight of the admission silenced them both. Noeul slowly looked back at the shrine, then at Chung-Hee. This wasn’t about remembering Haneul. It was about judging him.