Seo-yeon starts to gather the facts about the boys in the picture
The storm, a furious outburst of the rage of nature, had at last released its grip on the city, its angry tears spent, leaving the world washed clean and shining under a delicate, uncertain sunlight. But in the confines of Seo-yeon's tiny apartment, the storm persisted, a quiet, stagnant tide of fear and confusion that clung to the air she breathed.
The air was heavy and wet, completely still, clinging with the damp, earthy smell of rain-drenched dust motes hanging in the faint light that filtered through the half-drawn blinds, and the thin, lingering specter of lavender from a candle that had burned itself out long ago, its delicate flame snuffed by the stifling presence of unspoken truths and hidden memories.
