Foxglove's first attempts at testing antidote samples had been… unconventional. She had relied on death row prisoners for practice, observing the subtle reactions of human physiology under magical duress. They were expendable, of course, but each subject had offered invaluable insight: how long the effects lasted, which infusion ratios worked best, how to deliver the spell without alerting the target's innate defenses. She had worked for hours, chanting quietly, tracing sigils over the air, infusing magic stones with precise calibrations of power. By the time she stepped back, sweat beading her forehead, she allowed herself a rare, satisfied smile. The final subject had barely flinched under the spell, a small confirmation that her calculations were correct.
She exhaled deeply, straightening from the table, and decided it was time for a break. Even a sorceress couldn't survive on ambition and pride alone—she needed a drink, a small snack, a brief reprieve from her endless calculations. Pulling her coat around her, she left the high-security prison facility she had been working in, blending into the bustling city beyond its walls.
The commute from the high-security penitentiary to her regular café back at the capital was a study in ordinary sounds—vendors calling, tires sighing, a bus leaking city warmth—sounds she catalogued like samples. Her pulse slowed a fraction. Being unnoticed felt safer than any ward she could cast. Unnoticed was power without cost.
She stepped inside, letting the cool air of the interior wash over her, and joined the short queue. Her long hair was tucked beneath a soft scarf, and she wore large glasses that hid her eyes and softened her otherwise commanding presence. By the time it was her turn, she had chosen a tall cup of iced tea and a small pastry. Retrieving her order, she adjusted the scarf around her neck, aware of the curious glances of other patrons, and prepared to find a corner table.
That fantasy shattered abruptly when she rounded the counter and nearly collided with someone. She instinctively raised a hand to shield her face, panicking at the sight of uniforms she recognized instantly: Task Force Delta. Her heart clenched. They were close. Too close. She cursed silently under her breath, praying they didn't notice her.
At least, she recognized him immediately. He did not, however, recognize her. His expression shifted quickly from mild surprise to delight, the corners of his lips lifting into a charming grin. "Well, that's a dramatic entrance," he said smoothly, brushing off his coat as if nothing unusual had happened. "Are you always this graceful, or am I just lucky enough to witness it?"
Bora's pulse quickened, a mix of panic and the need to maintain composure flooding her. She forced herself to smile faintly behind the glasses, murmuring a polite apology. "I… I'm sorry. I wasn't paying attention."
Seungmin tilted his head slightly, his eyes scanning her with the easy curiosity of someone intrigued, not threatened. "No harm done. I'm Hong Seungmin," he said, offering a hand with effortless charm. "And you are…?"
She hesitated for a moment, before deciding to respond. They only knew her by her alias, and her name was written obviously on her drink's cup, so lying wasn't an option if he was just asking as a formality. "Choi Bora." She replied softly. "A pleasure to meet you."
His eyes brightened as if her shyness only made her more appealing. "You come here often?" he asked smoothly, leaning slightly closer as he smiled. "It's kind of rare to see someone who looks like… well, someone who belongs in a different world. You've got that kind of… aura, you know?"
Bora blinked, momentarily caught off guard by his charm. "Uh… thanks," she murmured. She adjusted her bag strap nervously, praying the conversation would stay casual.
Seungmin, oblivious to the danger he had narrowly avoided, grinned. "Well, you've got great balance for a casual coffee run. Not many people can bump into someone and still look composed."
Yet there was something odd, something almost pleasant about the way he carried himself when he wasn't trying to hunt her or thwart her magic. Smooth, charming, effortlessly engaging—far different from the fierce soldier she had clashed with in the woods. She kept up the conversation carefully, laughing at his light jokes, offering small compliments, all while scanning the surrounding street for the rest of Task Force Delta.
Bora swallowed and nodded, keeping her tone light, professional. "Thank you. I… live nearby. I come here sometimes for a quiet cup of tea." She tried to focus on her tray, avoiding any gestures that might draw attention.
He smiled, smooth and effortless now, no trace of the battlefield hostility that would normally color his words. "Well, then, maybe you can help me. I'm… sightseeing a bit. From the South, you see. Trying to get a feel for the North, now that everything's… peaceful. Any recommendations? Good places to eat? Lodging?"
Her mind raced. This was an unexpected opportunity. If she could subtly guide them to the capital, near the areas where she lived, she could narrow the locations she might have to search to find Taemin. Carefully, she leaned in slightly, her voice quiet, casual.
She let the smile become something more. "There are a few places," she said, keeping her voice conversational, letting the city's lilt soften her consonants. "If you want somewhere quiet and not crowded with diplomats—there's the Ebisu House, small, tucked behind the old market by the river. Rooms with balconies. If you prefer something with a touch of character, the old governor's inn—The Silver Lantern—keeps traditional rooms and decent food. And closer to the administrative quarter… a new boutique—The Murex—is clean and modern. If you're sightseeing, you'll want to be near the river or the northern gardens." She hesitated, then added, "If you're interested, I can write down more names for you. Places I'd trust."
Bora smiled softly, careful to appear casual. Inside, her mind was working faster than ever: monitoring their routes, noting the patterns of their movement, planning her next steps. A simple cup of iced tea had turned into a delicate reconnaissance mission, and she was acutely aware that every word she spoke might steer the squad toward—or away from—her ultimate goal: finding Taemin before the effects of her own poison worsened.
Seungmin's eyes lit up with the simple glee of a man who'd been offered treasure. "The river sounds perfect. Balconies, you say? Nice. Which of those is closest to… say, the upper district? We want to be able to wander. Maybe enjoy an evening meal without walking forever." He continued chatting casually, asking for details about restaurants, recommended dishes, and local landmarks. Bora kept up the conversation with carefully measured responses, letting him believe they were simply two strangers talking in a city café. She noted every detail, storing information, gauging movements, and subtly plotting her next steps.
For the first time since the poisoning, she allowed herself a quiet exhale, thankful that her anonymity held. If only things continued this smoothly, she might just have a chance to reverse her own work without interference—though the thought of eventually confronting Taemin made her chest tighten.
Seungmin, oblivious to her internal calculus, continued. Flirtation slid out of him like a practiced breeze. "If you have time, maybe you could join us for dinner? We're compromised on the tour guide front and you clearly have taste. I insist — it's not every day we meet someone with local recommendations. What do you say?"
A dinner with them could mean surveillance advantages; it could mean watching how they moved, seeing the interactions that could reveal where Taemin might hole up. It could also mean proximity to the man she had poisoned. She nodded lightly. "Sure… that sounds fine," she said, her voice measured, soft.
Seungmin's grin broadened, clearly thrilled. He fumbled in his jacket pocket, then pulled out a folded napkin. "Here, I'll give you my number—just in case." He scribbled quickly, glancing at her to make sure she was paying attention.
Bora's fingers closed around it, heart racing as she held the flimsy paper like a lifeline. She had almost convinced herself that the encounter would go smoothly when a shadow fell across the table, and a sharp, commanding voice cut through the casual air.
"Seungmin! What do you think you're doing?"
Bora froze, her chest tightening. Her heart hammered in her ears. She prayed silently to any higher force listening—gods, the universe, spirits, anyone—that Junwon wouldn't recognize her. His eyes were sharp enough to dissect armor, to read intentions like an open book. One glance and she could be exposed, one word and her carefully maintained cover could collapse.
Seungmin's shoulders stiffened for half a second, then he laughed awkwardly, raising his hands in surrender. "Uh, Captain, she's… uh, our new guide!" he said quickly, his voice light but earnest. "Really! She knows the city, the spots, everything we could possibly need. I just… I might've gotten a little ahead of myself."
Bora's eyes widened. He's right here. Right here. Her breath caught. She kept her head lowered behind her glasses, pretending to adjust them, praying the shadows of her hair masked her features. Every instinct screamed to flee or vanish into the streets.
He continued, eyes sparkling as he turned to the captain with a grin that was all mischief and diplomacy. "Honestly, Junwon, your stiff presence is terrifying sometimes. She froze because of you, not because she doesn't want to talk. Really, lighten up a bit—it's not a battle; it's a friendly city tour!"
Junwon's eyes softened just slightly, though his posture remained rigid, scanning her carefully. "A guide," he repeated, tone still clipped. "Good. Then perhaps you can assist us efficiently, without—" He cut himself off, noticing the light tension in the girl's posture. His gaze flicked back to Seungmin. "—without unnecessary distractions."
Seungmin clapped his hands lightly, shaking off the lingering tension. "Now that's settled," he said, winking at her, "shall we find a proper place to grab dinner? You've got the inside scoop, and I plan to take full advantage of it."
"I need to excuse myself," she murmured quickly, nodding to Seungmin with a shaky smile. "The restroom, please."
For a moment, she allowed herself a flicker of relief. As long as I keep my cool, they won't recognize me, she thought. The boys knew Foxglove as a figure almost mythic in her appearance: glowing purple eyes, radiant sigils etched into pale skin, an aura of magic that made her presence feel like a light storm.
Here, she was Choi Bora. Her hair was neatly tied back, her eyes a soft lilac rather than the piercing purple of her magical self, and her skin was unmarked and ordinary. No glow, no runes, no trace of the woman who had haunted Southern missions for months. She doubted anyone had studied her face closely enough— the intense focus on her magic and her movements had left little room for examining the finer details of her civilian features.
She splashed cold water on her face, the liquid grounding her. She repeated her internal mantra, counting the seconds it took for the droplets to slide down her cheeks: I am Choi Bora. I am not Foxglove. Breathe. I am calm. I am ordinary. Her hands were steady now, her pulse slowing, but she knew she had only a few moments to compose herself before returning to the table.
Returning to the main café area, her pulse quickened again. The rest of the squad had arrived, filling the table with an air of casual banter, though the subtle tension between them betrayed their focus. Taemin slouched in his chair, pale from the poison's lingering effects, trying not to give away just how much the cursed wound was burning beneath his sleeve. Mu-hyeok's eyes were bright with curiosity and admiration, glancing toward her periodically, while Taek and Junwon maintained their quiet, observant stances.
She forced a smile, lifting her gaze to meet theirs with practiced casualness. "Hello," she said, her voice steady, soft, and careful. "I'm Choi Bora. A new acquaintance of Seungmin-nim, and he's asked me to be your guide for the city."
The group rose from the café table, chairs scraping lightly against the wooden floor as laughter and light chatter mixed with the muted city hum outside. Mu-hyeok, always eager and outspoken, leaned forward and tilted his head toward Bora. "There's this restaurant I've been curious about," he said, eyes bright with interest. "I heard the ramen there is supposedly amazing. Maybe we could—"
Seungmin's hand shot out in a quick shush, his grin both playful and commanding. "Mu-hyeok, save it. The guide would know best. Why guess when we have someone who can tell us exactly where to go?"
Bora felt a small shiver of amusement and nerves. Her mind immediately flicked back to Mu-hyeok: the operative with the easy charm, the shoulders that spoke of relentless training, and sharp abs. She remembered him vividly from a past mission — the one time she had accidentally torn his shirt during a skirmish. The memory of that moment lingered faintly, unexpected and oddly intrusive. She shook it off, forcing a calm, professional smile, though the image had clearly made her more alert.
"Well," she said smoothly, leaning into the polite, guiding tone she had been cultivating since their first meeting, "if you'd like, we could check out that restaurant. It seems like a good place to start, and it's nearby."
Mu-hyeok's grin widened instantly, practically beaming. "Yes! Finally, someone on my side," he whispered, leaning closer to her as if sharing a secret victory.
Her attention, however, shifted almost immediately. Taemin, who had been quiet through the café chatter, groaned softly as they rose. It was a subtle noise, almost swallowed by the ambient city sounds, but Bora's senses — honed for years in battle and pursuit — picked it up instantly. Her eyes flicked to him, noting the slight shift in his posture, the faint limp that appeared as he adjusted his weight.
She moved closer, stepping just enough into his line of sight to speak quietly. "Are you okay?" she asked, her voice calm, deceptively casual. The group's banter faltered slightly, and several pairs of eyes glanced between each other, hesitant to speak.
The rest of the squad glanced at each other, debating whether they should intervene or mention anything. Their hesitation spoke volumes — the unspoken acknowledgment that something was off, but uncertainty about how to address it.
Before the silence could grow uncomfortable, Taek interjected with a low, steady voice. "He got a tattoo on his arm recently. Must be bothering him more than he's letting on."
Bora's lips tightened into a brief grimace. She knew immediately it wasn't a tattoo. Her poison, the slow-burning curse she had laid onto him, was asserting itself again, flaring just enough to make movement uncomfortable and sharp. The recognition sent a flicker of unease through her, but she left it unspoken, allowing Taemin to mask his discomfort as something mundane.
She offered a light nod, her tone even as she crouched slightly to meet his eye level. "I see," she said softly, enough to convey sympathy but not enough to alarm anyone else. "Let me know if it gets worse. We'll adjust the pace."
Taemin's jaw tightened imperceptibly, but he simply muttered a low acknowledgment, grateful for the cover. Mu-hyeok bounced slightly beside her, unaware of the tension, while Seungmin leaned back, arms crossed, a smug grin teasing at his lips.
Bora took a deep breath, mentally cataloging the subtle cues: the groan, the uneven gait, the faint tension in his fingers. Each was a signal of the poison's slow work, and each reminded her of the urgency she had to resolve this delicate, dangerous equation. She let the group move forward, letting Mu-hyeok chatter happily about the restaurant, but her eyes never left Taemin's back as he walked, keeping tabs with the precision of a predator in thought rather than action.
For now, she would leave the curse to its gradual effect. There would be time to intervene, to administer relief when the moment allowed — but not here, not in the crowded, watchful streets of the capital. For now, she followed, hidden in plain sight, guiding the Task Force Delta squad as their "helpful" city guide, all while keeping a careful tally of each tremor, each flinch, and each signal of the poison she alone had placed.
Bora followed in their wake, blending seamlessly into her role as guide, her mind running through calculations, plans, and contingencies. Her calm exterior belied the storm of thoughts behind her eyes: how to manage the squad, how to ensure Taemin's survival without revealing her identity, and how to steer them toward safe zones while maintaining control over the unpredictable variables that her curse had introduced into his life.
As the sunlight faded into the warm glow of evening streetlights, she kept her expression light, offering casual directions and smiles, all the while noting every alley, every street sign, every inn or restaurant that could serve as a point of observation. The mission had shifted, subtly but irrevocably: she was no longer only the hunter or the caster of spells; she was also a guardian of the very man she had once targeted. And that reality, no matter how carefully concealed, added a weight to every step she took alongside Task Force Delta.
The restaurant was softly lit, a gentle amber glow reflecting off polished wood tables and glassware. The chatter of other diners created a comfortable hum around them, but for Bora, the world was a careful observation deck. She kept her posture straight, hands folded neatly in her lap, only speaking when a direct question was directed at her — typically about streets, inns, or the local specialties of the city.
Taek, seated across from her, found himself watching her more than the conversation at the table. There was something… off. He couldn't place it. Her movements were measured, her responses clipped but polite, but there was a subtle intensity in her gaze. She wasn't just shy — he felt it in the way her eyes darted from one detail to another, scanning and logging, the rhythm too precise to be casual observation. Something about her felt strategic, deliberate, and he felt a faint unease creeping in, like noticing a shadow move out of the corner of his eye.
Meanwhile, Taemin's discomfort was less abstract and more personal. His arm throbbed faintly beneath the sleeve, the poison's lingering effects searing through the muscle every so often. He tried to focus on the conversation, on the menu, but he could feel her eyes — quiet, careful, unyielding — tracking him. Each shift in his weight or slight grimace seemed cataloged. He brushed it off as mere concern, though the nagging thought at the back of his mind whispered that it was something more.
The group began laughing lightly at Mu-hyeok's enthusiastic descriptions of dishes he had read about online, and soon the idea of getting a drink came up. "We should loosen up a bit," Mu-hyeok said with a grin. "A small toast wouldn't hurt, right?"
Junwon's hand shot up in a half-scolding, half-affectionate gesture. "No," he said firmly, tapping lightly on Mu-hyeok's head. "You're worried about your alcohol intake? Think of her. It wouldn't be gentlemanly to get tipsy in front of a woman we've just met."
Taemin leaned back, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "We can handle our liquor, Captain. Really. It wouldn't be a problem."
Bora's head snapped up at the suggestion, and her voice was firm, controlled, but carried an undertone of urgency. "Absolutely not. Alcohol could have unknown effects on your arm. You don't want to exacerbate the injury, do you?" Her words hung in the air, a careful mixture of authority and concern, but inside her chest, panic flared. Oh no, did I say too much? Did I reveal that I know more than I should?
For a split second, she braced for suspicion, for narrowed eyes and pointed questions, for Junwon to notice some subtle inconsistency. Her pulse accelerated, her mind racing to patch over the accidental reveal.
Instead, Mu-hyeok leaned forward, eyes sparkling with admiration, a genuine smile spreading across his face. "Wow… that's really attentive of you. You're… really thoughtful, you know? Not many people would notice something like that."
Bora's tension eased slightly, though she kept her expression polite and neutral. The compliment, innocuous as it was, allowed her a moment of relief, a small shield against the panic that had been creeping in. She nodded lightly, murmuring, "I just… pay attention to details."
The group moved on with dinner, conversation flowing more naturally around her. Seungmin kept up his smooth, easy chatter, pointing out local quirks and hidden alleys in the city, while Mu-hyeok's excitement about food kept the energy light. Junwon remained quiet but observant, his eyes scanning the room in his habitual protective manner, while Taek continued to study her from time to time, puzzled by the subtle precision of her attention.
Seungmin had always thought of himself as a disciplined man, the sort who kept his thoughts where they belonged—on the mission, on his comrades, on the next battle that would determine whether they lived to see another sunrise. For years, there had been no room for anything else. And yet, sitting here in the warm glow of the restaurant's lights, with laughter humming faintly around their table, he felt something unfamiliar tugging at him.
It had been so long since he'd been in the presence of a woman outside the context of blood, politics, or negotiations. And Choi Bora? She wasn't like those stern-faced officials or veiled courtiers he had brushed shoulders with in passing. No, she was something else entirely. Soft, warm, human.
And wasn't that the strangest thing?
They had lived so long on the edge of battle, with blood and steel dictating every choice, that Seungmin had nearly forgotten what ordinary felt like. But today—meeting her at the café by chance, walking the streets with her as their guide, sitting here now in a restaurant as though they were just a group of friends—it felt like something out of a television drama. The kind with lighthearted banter and lingering glances, with a "meet cute" that could lead to something more. For once, there was no battlefield in sight, no enemy to cut down. Just a woman with a gentle smile and his own heart, betraying him by stirring at the possibility of normalcy.
He could see it now, a life after all this—peace restored, laughter at a dinner table that wasn't haunted by pain. He had thought that life beyond the fight would feel hollow, purposeless. Yet here he was, realizing how deeply he craved it, how much he wanted something soft and simple to hold onto. Normalcy. He had thought himself too hardened to crave it, too practical to dwell on things like chance meetings or fleeting smiles. And yet today had unfolded like something plucked straight from a drama script—the sudden encounter at the café, the effortless way conversation had flowed, and now dinner, where she sat at their side as though she belonged there. With her acting as their guide, it gave them a perfectly natural excuse to keep her close, to see her again and again.
Seungmin found himself observing her more than he should have. He noticed the way her eyes widened slightly when someone addressed her directly, an unconscious gesture that made her look both attentive and a little startled. The corners of her lips would curve just enough to soften her expression, the kind of smile that felt quietly genuine. When she glanced at Taemin —far more often than at anyone else— Seungmin's mind supplied its own reasoning: she was worried. Concerned for his injury, perhaps even too shy to ask directly. The thought made Seungmin exhale a small sigh, his chest tightening with a mix of admiration and something almost tender. What a soft, considerate woman.
He found himself leaning forward, listening harder to her tone when she spoke about the Riverside market and Lantern's Rest. There was a gentleness in the way she clipped the names into neat little packages, useful and direct, never showy. When she laughed at one of Mu-hyeok's overly dramatic descriptions of dumpling prowess, it was sincere enough that Seungmin felt the urge to grin back. The air around them softened; the table's rough edges smoothed by ordinary conversation.
But the mood snapped back to reality with every reminder of why they were here. His attention tugged toward Taemin again, mindful of the man's quiet grits through the pain. A wedge of something like anger sank into Seungmin's ribs—sharp, hot. Foxglove. The name tasted like smoke. He had watched his men stitch wounds in field hospitals, had seen friends fade after ambushes. The thought of someone out there, glowing runes and all, fashioning a poison and then smiling as it worked, was a kind of offense he could not tolerate. The more he liked Bora—the more he wanted to walk through Lantern's Rest with her pointing out stalls—the more he wanted Foxglove found, dragged into the light, and forced to make amends.
His admiration for Bora sharpened into a contract with himself: he would enjoy her company, learn the soft places of the city through her voice, and he would do whatever it took to make Foxglove answer for what she'd done. The two thoughts didn't contradict each other so much as run in tandem; if Foxglove was caught and made to heal Taemin, then perhaps the ordinary nights he longed for would feel less fragile, less built on the quicksand of violence. A healed friend. A promise kept. A little life that could be ordinary again.
So Seungmin straightened slightly, the sigh caught in his chest deepening into something more resolute. The more he found himself drawn to her—the more he glimpsed the fragile normalcy they might all reclaim—the more he swore he would see Foxglove brought to heel. Because only then, only when that fiend was dealt with, could they truly enjoy this peace.
Meanwhile, said fiend was sitting right across him at the very same table, staying composed, despite her mind racing beneath the calm surface. Every glance, every movement of the squad, every comment they made was logged and noted. Bora was learning patterns, testing limits, gauging reactions, all while maintaining the appearance of a helpful, courteous guide. Even as her pulse slowly began to settle, she remained aware of the precarious balance she had to maintain: engaging with them without revealing herself, attentive without overstepping, and always watching — for Taemin, for the squad, for every variable that could betray her presence.
She sat quietly as the others continued their lively chatter, her hand delicately wrapped around the cold glass of water. From the outside, she looked serene, maybe even a touch reserved. Inside, however, her thoughts were whirring with relentless calculation. Her eyes, though trained to appear passive, kept drifting toward Taemin, toward the way he flexed his fingers subtly, massaged his shoulder absentmindedly, or shifted his arm with the faintest grimace of pain.
It puzzled her to no end.
By all accounts, he should have been dead already. The spell she'd cast, a venom woven from an ancient rune she had painstakingly deciphered, was not something a modern apothecary or physician could counter. She had studied the lines until her eyes burned, adjusted the formula to ensure it fused perfectly with her own craft, and loosed it into his veins. The design was elegant, merciless, inevitable. There was no antidote that existed — not in this century, perhaps not in this millennium. She knew this because she herself had scoured every record she could find before daring to use it.
And yet… there he was. Breathing. Eating. Laughing with his men. Grimacing now and again, yes — she could tell the pain gnawed at him like a parasite, sharp enough to erode even his iron self-control. But alive. Alive when he had no business being.
Her brows almost furrowed before she caught herself, smoothing her expression back into neutrality. Was it luck? Some hidden resilience in his bloodline? Or something else entirely, some counterforce she had not anticipated? She despised the uncertainty, hated not knowing why her weapon was failing to finish its work. And yet, the more she thought on it, the more she realized this was not altogether a curse. If he was lingering, that meant she had time — time to experiment, to search, to craft the antidote she now so inconveniently needed. If he keeled over before she perfected it, the consequences for her would be far graver than simply failing her mission.
She told herself it was for the better. That his stubborn survival bought her room to maneuver. But that wasn't the entire truth.
A darker satisfaction coiled in her chest as she watched the subtle winces, the way his jaw clenched against a twinge of pain, how he shifted in his chair like his body betrayed him in small, humiliating ways. Her target, her Her enemy, the one who so often stood smug, infuriatingly composed and a step ahead, was suffering because of her. His groan when he shifted his arm was a melody sweeter than any lute. Every twitch of his muscles, every faint wince, reminded her of her handiwork. It was proof of her victory, even if incomplete. She took a small sip of water, masking the faint curl of a smile that threatened at the corners of her lips.
Yet in that pride, there was also a pang of disappointment—a bitter one, quiet but sharp. Eventually, she would have to help him. Heal him. Undo the beauty of her own craft. The thought left her almost resentful, because she preferred him like this: vulnerable, dependent, weighed down by her spell. He was easier to look at when his arrogance was stripped away, when he wasn't the man who always seemed untouchable, but instead someone caught in her grasp.
It was a cruel thought, perhaps, but it warmed her nonetheless.
Her gaze lingered on him one heartbeat too long, and she caught herself, redirecting her attention smoothly to Seungmin's comment about the best soup in the city. Outwardly, she nodded, her expression composed, thoughtful. Inwardly, she held on to that satisfaction like a hidden ember, burning hot and bright against the cold puzzle of his survival.
"You've been a great help today," Junwon said at last, his tone warm but measured, a leader's voice softened for courtesy. He leaned forward, resting his forearms against the edge of the table. "If you're free tomorrow, perhaps you could join us at the riverside market? A guide with your knowledge would save us some time — and maybe keep us from embarrassing ourselves too badly."
For a moment, Bora's eyes widened slightly — a reflex, the polite mask of surprise — before her lashes lowered in thought. She let silence stretch just long enough to seem genuine in her consideration, even though the answer had already formed on her tongue hours ago.
But reality settled in quickly, a cool hand on her shoulder. She forced her lips into a faint, polite smile and set her food down. "That's kind of you to ask," she said, tone warm but tempered with regret. "But I have work tomorrow. I won't be in the city."
Junwon's brows lifted just slightly, an acknowledgment of her answer rather than a press for more. Still, his curiosity —and perhaps Seungmin's watchful gaze from across the table— nudged her to elaborate. Bora smoothed over her explanation with practiced ease. "There's a project in a hiking park, the next city over. I was asked to assist with a biotic transfer — relocating flora from one region to another so they can take root in new soil." She let out a small laugh, self-deprecating but believable. "Not very glamorous, I know, but someone has to make sure the plants survive."
It wasn't a lie, not exactly. The park authorities had signed off on the transport, the crates of flowers harvested from the far northeastern provinces. Officially, she was just one more set of hands helping arrange them into soil beds. What she didn't say — what she couldn't — was that she would be there under another name, another life. Foxglove. The alias that carried both infamy and necessity. With her magic, those flowers would take root overnight, bloom in defiance of season, and thrive in alien ground. It was a small side mission, low-risk, but it would pay enough for her to keep her pockets lined while the bigger jobs loomed quiet and unseen.
She allowed herself a brief smile. "The park is a bit far from the city center," she explained, "and where they need me is near the northwestern trailhead. But you should check the lakeside area for the inns and the market stalls—the promenade is lovely at dusk." It was precise: she named a direction, set a boundary. The truth of her words would both steer them away from her actual work and still provide them with sound advice.
Junwon's gaze returned briefly to Bora, cool but no longer probing. "We appreciate your time." There was a thread of something like genuine thanks in his voice; he wasn't merely being polite—he was acknowledging her aid. She acknowledged his gratitude with a small incline and then used the moment to plant the suggestion fully. "If you head to the lakeside, look for establishments near the Willow Quay. They usually have a board with nightly notices—lodgings, performances, and small vendor recommendations. That should keep you comfortable."
It was a good deflection. The lakeside would occupy them for the day, pushing them away from the northwestern trailhead where her crates would be offloaded and where she'd be enchanting the soil. It would also provide a plausible reason for why Seungmin and the others might not stumble upon the park by chance.
Junwon gave a small nod, the kind that carried neither disappointment nor insistence. "The lakeside, then," he said simply, as if marking it down in his mind. His tone remained measured, yet there was an undertone of respect — he did not push further, perhaps recognizing boundaries when others might have pried.
As plates were cleared and the waiter returned for the last round of water, Junwon rose and offered a measured bow—protocol softened by a hint of personal courtesy. "Enjoy your evening, Miss Choi. And good luck with your project tomorrow."
The evening air had grown crisp by the time the group exited the restaurant. Streetlights cast a soft glow over the narrow sidewalks, and the distant sounds of the city —the hum of traffic, the murmur of pedestrians, the occasional bark of a dog— mingled with the fading echoes of their conversation. Seungmin chattered about dumplings they would not miss, Mu-hyeok already scheming about dessert, and Taek and Junwon fell into the kind of easy, efficient conversation that preceded action. Bora moved calmly with the group, tucked in the role she'd chosen—civilian guide, friend of Seungmin, someone who knew the city's safe corners.