Chapter 4: Cracks in the Sky
840 Words
The clouds weren’t right.
They were too low. Too still. As if the air had stopped moving, holding its breath for something terrible.
Yena noticed it first from the garden.
She’d been dragged out of the house by Ha-eun, who insisted on a “walk to clear your gloomy brain.” Now she stood by a koi pond, arms crossed, pretending not to feel exposed without walls.
Ha-eun crouched near the edge of the water, tossing breadcrumbs to fish that didn’t need feeding.
“You used to be scared of them,” the girl said, smirking.
“I was scared of koi?”
“You thought they had dead eyes. You called them soulless.”
Yena stared at the ripples. “I wasn’t wrong.”
Ha-eun laughed, bright and honest.
“You’re different now,” she said casually.
Yena didn’t move. “That obvious?”
“You sit straighter. Speak less. And you’re... sharper.” She glanced up. “I like it. You feel like you’re here now. Not hiding all the time.”
The compliment felt like a trap.
“I’m still me,” Yena said carefully.
Ha-eun’s smile was gentle. “That’s what people say before they change completely.”
Before Yena could answer, a chill swept through the air. The koi scattered.
She looked up. So did Ha-eun.
The sky was pale and thick. Not storm-gray, but something... yellowish. Blurred at the edges. As if the clouds were fog seen through glass.
Yena squinted.
And then it blinked.
Only once. A flicker of red light from somewhere deep behind the cloud layer. Gone in a second.
But she’d seen it before.
The same flicker before Seoul cracked open.
She didn’t move.
Ha-eun wrapped her arms around herself. “That was weird.”
“Let’s go inside,” Yena said. Too fast. Too sharp.
Ha-eun stared, then nodded.
---
By late afternoon, the house was crawling with polite unease.
Min-woo had returned early from the city. Unannounced. That never happened.
Yena watched from the upstairs railing as his car pulled up, flanked by two black sedans. Security exited first. Suits, sunglasses, earpieces. Min-woo followed, jacket unbuttoned, talking rapidly into his phone.
Ha-eun joined her at the railing, clutching a tablet.
“Something’s up,” she murmured.
“You heard something?”
“Some lab in Gyeonggi Province lost contact with their team. Rumors of quarantine. But no one’s confirming anything. App-controlled media channels are locked.”
Yena’s stomach turned.
Not because she was surprised.
Because she remembered that name.
Gyeonggi Province. Site 4.
The first known beast hatching.
She stepped back from the railing.
---
Later that evening, she stole into the old family library.
She needed something physical. Real. A map. A newspaper. Anything not filtered through apps and PR filters.
The library smelled like leather and age. Dust caught the last light through stained glass windows.
She found a topographical map tucked behind old defense journals. Unfolded it on the table. Traced her finger across known breach points from her memory: Incheon, Busan, Seongnam, Gyeonggi. They all formed a curve. Like a scythe across the country.
She looked at the sky again through the high window.
Still no stars.
Then—
A reflection.
Behind her.
She turned.
Min-woo stood by the door, arms crossed. No sound. No warning.
“I thought you hated books,” he said softly.
“I changed.”
“So I see.”
He stepped closer. Not hostile. But measured.
“Gyeonggi’s being handled,” he said. “No need to panic.”
“You think I’m panicking?”
Min-woo smiled without humor. “Not yet. But you’re studying fault lines like a general.”
Yena folded the map. “Maybe I just like to be prepared.”
“For what?” he asked.
A beat.
“For whatever comes next.”
Min-woo studied her. “You’re expecting something.”
“I’m adjusting to reality.”
“Mm.” He nodded. “And if reality shifts?”
“I shift first.”
Their eyes held.
Min-woo stepped forward again, into her space. Not threatening. Just close enough to test her stillness.
“You’re not scared anymore,” he said.
“Should I be?”
“No.” He touched the folded map between them. “But you should remember this: most people mistake caution for weakness. You—don’t.”
She didn’t answer.
Then he said, almost gently, “If something’s coming, little brother... I’d prefer you tell me before it arrives.”
Yena’s throat tightened. The words wanted to escape—I’m not your brother. I’m not even a boy.
But she swallowed them. Locked them behind her teeth.
“I’ll let you know,” she said quietly.
Min-woo nodded once. “Good.”
Then he left, silent as he came.
---
That night, the wind picked up.
Not natural wind. Not the kind that rustled trees.
This was high-altitude displacement. Fast. Wrong.
Yena sat by her window and watched the clouds.
And this time, they didn’t blink.
They glared.
...........
- Writer
