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Our laughter fades into a quiet lull. I lean in and press her soft lips against mine. After only two nights, we’ve grown used to lying in the dark with only the moonlight and a single candle flickering in the corner.

Monroe snuggles closer and murmurs, “Did you ever serve?”

“Mandatory service. Two years after I turned eighteen. Right around the time I inherited this house.”

“And you still came back to the Baekho Pa?”

“I’d already pledged my life away. From the time I was thirteen, fourteen years old. The military was a brief detour. I did question if there could be another path for me,” I explain, laying back and staring up at the ceiling. “But there wasn’t. My family was long gone. I had no real options. I could never live a normal life after the things I had already done.”

Monroe hums, resting her head on my chest. Her fingers trace slow patterns across my tattooed ribs. I figure I might as well tell her the other things on my mind.

“The other night… I lied to you.”

“About what?”

“I said I had no memories of this home. That wasn’t true. I was very young, but I remember some things. Most of those things… are violent. My family was murdered in this house.”

My name spills from her lips as a breathless gasp.

I swallow hard. “I was just a boy. Maybe three or four. My father hid me in the wardrobe and begged me to be quiet. Then he stood tall and faced them. Some gangster and his crew. I’m still not even sure what they wanted. But they didn’t leave until they took their revenge. My family’s lives.

“I was helpless. I watched through the crack in the wardrobe door. They had hatchets and cut my family to pieces before my eyes. Blood soaked the floors by the time they were done. Then… it was just silence. I was eventually found and then sent off to the orphanage.”

Her body tenses against mine, eyes glistening with tears even in the dark. I wrap an arm around her and keep her pinned close.

“I didn’t tell you this to upset you. I told you because I trust you, Tokki-ya. More than anyone. And I want you to know me. All of me. Including the bad parts. Things no one else knows.”

She sniffs, then buries her face against my chest. “Thank you for telling me. My heart aches for what you went through… but I’m honored you trust me.”

We fall silent again and listen to the waves crash outside. I close my eyes, Monroe’s breath warm against my skin, and for the first time in years, I slip off to sleep with no heavy burden weighing me down.

It’s a level of peace that would’ve been impossible without the woman in my arms.

Gijang Station is barely more than a lone weathered platform tucked into the hills. Wild grass and pine trees flank the tracks. The place smells of dust and metal with touches of cigarette smoke. From above, the sun hangs high in the sky, another clear summer day.

Monroe hasn’t let go of me since we arrived.

Her bag sits by her feet. The duffel I’d put together for her with everything she’ll need. She reaches into her pocket and pulls out the seashell I gave her the other night.

“I’m keeping it with me,” she says, brushing her thumb across its delicate ridges. “Every day we’re apart, it stays in my pocket. Proof this happened. That we’re together.”

I nod, the knot in my throat thick.

“I’ve arranged everything,” I tell her. “You’ll connect at the main Busan Station. Then take a flight this evening into Taiwan. I have a friend there—an older woman who knew my mother—and she’ll be able to look after you. You’ll stay at her home under a false name. Documents, food, cash. All of it is arranged.”

Her chin quivers even as she tries to smile up at me. I cup her face in my hand and swipe my thumb over her eye, wiping away a tear before it can even fall.

“I’ll come for you when it’s safe. But until then… we can’t talk. No calls or messages. Not even letters. Not to me. Not to anyone else. It’s too dangerous. All contact will be through my friend.”

“Don’t let us be separated for too long.”

Monroe leans toward me, winding her arms around my waist. I press my face into her curly hair and breathe in the intoxicating scent of her. My fingers curl into the back of her blouse, desperate to hold her just a while longer.

She finally draws back, glancing over her shoulder. “I have to go,” she whispers. “They’re calling final boarding.”

“Alright, yeah… go ahead.”

She turns to start toward the train, but I grab her wrist and wrench her back toward me. My mouth crashes against hers one more time for an impulsive, last-second goodbye kiss. I can’t help myself, the urge to taste her taking over.