Chapter 8: The Woman Who Remembers
837 Words
The invitation arrived in a black envelope sealed with gold ink.
Ha-eun slid it across the breakfast table without looking up from her smoothie. “For you.”
Yena opened it cautiously. Inside, embossed in clean serif letters:
> The Future of Seoul: Emerging Biotech Panel & Gala.
Hosted by Jang Foundation & Cha Group Holdings.
Location: Grand Jeongwon Hotel. Time: 8 p.m.
She frowned.
“I didn’t agree to this.”
“Min-woo did,” Ha-eun said. “He’s speaking on behalf of the board. He wants you to show face. Smile. Be the respectable little brother again.”
Yena folded the card in half. “He’s wasting his time.”
---
The hotel gleamed like a palace of mirrored stone and synthetic charm.
Every wall was reflective. Every smile on every guest too white. Too polished. The ballroom smelled of roses, money, and lies.
Yena wore a suit tailored for Seo-jun’s frame—navy with black accents, fitted perfectly to shoulders she still didn’t feel belonged to her. She walked a half-step behind Min-woo through the entryway, aware of every camera flash, every turned head.
He leaned close as they entered. “Remember the family line: respectful, reserved, brilliant.”
“I’ll do my best impression of a person.”
He smirked, but said nothing.
The room buzzed with political figures, corporate sharks, research heads, and scientists in sleek attire. Biotech was the mask of the night, but Yena could see it in their eyes: none of them cared about medicine.
They wanted control.
Min-woo greeted investors. Yena stood beside him like a perfectly posed cutout. Ha-eun drifted through the crowd, glowing and social.
Yena’s head ached.
The light was too sharp. The voices too loud.
And then—
She saw her.
Across the ballroom, dressed in a black cocktail dress too short for the venue’s conservative tone, stood a woman leaning against the bar like it owed her something. Hair short, eyes sunken, skin too pale. Her makeup was slightly smudged, and her heels looked like they’d been worn through hell.
Yena’s heart froze.
Oh Mi-ra.
Alive.
But she looked like she had been dragged out of the apocalypse and dumped in high society as a joke.
Her eyes scanned the room lazily—and landed on Yena.
She straightened.
And in that moment, they both knew.
Recognition flared like a bomb.
Mi-ra pushed away from the bar and started toward her.
Yena moved fast. Too fast for etiquette.
She reached her near the side doors leading to the terrace, grabbed her arm without ceremony, and shoved through the glass.
The cold night air hit hard.
Mi-ra laughed.
“You’re alive,” she whispered. “You’re him.”
Yena didn’t speak. Just stared.
“You remember too,” Mi-ra said, voice cracking. “Tell me I’m not insane.”
“You’re not,” Yena said hoarsely.
Mi-ra let out a choked, ugly sound—half-sob, half-laugh.
“They all think I’m crazy. I was locked up for two years. Said I had psychotic trauma. But I remember the fog. The screaming. The bones—God, the bones—”
Yena grabbed her shoulders. “Stop.”
Mi-ra fell silent.
Yena looked at her—really looked. She was thinner. Her skin sallow. Her pupils slightly dilated.
“Are you stable?”
“No,” Mi-ra whispered. “Not even a little.”
“When did you wake up?”
“Six years ago. But it took me four to believe it was real. I thought it was a hallucination.”
“And now?”
Mi-ra’s gaze sharpened. “Now I know it’s coming again. I’ve been tracking signs. Weather patterns. Government scrub jobs. This gala? Half these people are already building bunkers. They know.”
Yena’s blood chilled.
Mi-ra stepped closer. “You were stronger than me in the last world. People followed you. You survived what none of us did. Tell me you have a plan.”
“I’m still figuring it out,” Yena said.
“That’s not good enough,” Mi-ra hissed. “We don’t have time for slow. This thing—it’s early. The mutation rates are accelerating. The blood in Gyeonggi wasn’t even human.”
Yena’s breath caught.
Mi-ra’s voice dropped to a whisper. “You told us last time we had six months. This time? We’ll be lucky if we get three.”
The glass doors opened behind them.
Min-woo stood there.
His face was a mask of calm. But his eyes—his eyes burned like coals.
Yena stepped between them instinctively.
Min-woo’s gaze locked on Mi-ra. “Who is she?”
Mi-ra smiled thinly. “Someone who remembers what your brother’s trying to forget.”
Then she brushed past them both and disappeared into the ballroom crowd.
Min-woo didn’t speak for a long time.
Yena stared ahead, stone still.
“You’re going to tell me everything,” he said.
His voice was low. Controlled.
Deadly.
Yena closed her eyes.
It’s too late to lie now.
---
- Writer
