Morning came, but Seoul did not feel alive in the way it once had. The city moved, yes—the subway lines thundered, buses hissed to a halt, and office workers flooded the streets in their endless tide. Neon signs dimmed as daylight took over, vendors unpacked their carts, and the smoke of breakfast stalls curled into the crisp air. To anyone glancing from the outside, Seoul was itself.
But for those who had touched the scar, the disguise was paper-thin.
Min-joon stood at the sink of his apartment, staring into the water as it ran. He should have been rinsing his face, but his eyes stayed fixed on the reflection. The water rippled, but not in time with his movements. When he lifted his hand to splash his face, the reflection didn't follow. It blinked at him instead, eyes dark and heavy with something that wasn't human.
He slammed the faucet off, heart pounding, and the image broke.
