One more silent drive later, and I started to really recognize my surroundings. We were driving towards the house I had lived nearly my entire life. I sat up a bit in my seat, craning my neck to look around through the window. Everything was exactly as I had left it. It was almost surreal- as if nothing had ever happened. As if I had never left. Only a few more minutes went by until we pulled into the circular driveway in front of the rather large two-story house I knew so well. When Ellen shifted her car into park, neither of us moved. “Do you,” I spoke hesitantly, turning to face the weary woman as my voice trailed off, “I’m sure my parents would like to thank you.”

A subtle little half-smile twitched around her lips. “I’m not good at that sort of thing,” she admitted quietly, the warm, late evening sun glinting off of her aviator sunglasses as the sun set. “I think you’d better go it alone.”

I momentarily considered insisting. Maybe even convince her to at least take a nap, but at the end of the day, I owed her a lot. And I needed to respect her wishes. Not to mention that she was a colonel for goodness’ sake, so I had no business trying to boss her around. “Well,” I felt a little awkward saying goodbye after such a long day practically glued to Ellen’s side, “Thanks. For everything,” I felt a pang of sadness. I had gone from hating her to relying on her in one day, and if I was honest, I had grown attached to the tall, slightly awkward Air Force officer with a fear of flying.

She only responded with a little nod at first. Sitting back against her seat, she looked out the windshield and out at my house. “I’ll find a way to get your friends out of there,” she practically whispered, more to herself than to me. I caught her knuckles flex as she gripped the wheel of the vehicle. “I can’t just lift them out of there without a good excuse,” she continued to mumble, “but I’ll find a way. Maybe I could lead them to the border.” As if suddenly remembering I was there, she turned to me one last time. “Go on, kid. Your parents are waiting.”

I wasn’t sure exactly what to do. I couldn’t just roll out of there as if I weren’t potentially sending this woman to her untimely demise. Resigning myself to the unfortunate circumstance, I held out a hand, which she took firmly. “Goodbye, Colonel Hawke.”

“Bye Zoey,” she returned as I opened the car door, stepping out into the cool air. As soon as I closed it behind me, she drove away, the rumbling of tires over concrete the last remnants of my time with Colonel Ellen Hawke. It felt strange, standing there alone. I was even tempted to just stay out there for a while, gather my thoughts, and enjoy the solitude. However, I was tired, hungry, and absolutely filthy. So, with just a little trepidation, I stepped up and knocked on my parents’ front door.

It took only about a minute for my father to finally answer. He cracked open the dark wooden slab to peer out, but swung it forcefully inward when our grey eyes met. “Zoey!” he cried out in disbelief as he grabbed for me, pulling me into arms and into his chest, coated by his slightly scratchy navy blue wool sweater. I tried to respond, but I found myself unable to speak, my throat tightening with each passing moment as I fought back tears. Tears of relief, joy, sadness and grief. My heart and mind didn’t know how to feel, so I simply clutched at my father as if letting him go would make him disappear. My mother was quick to join us, her tears uninhibited as she stammered and sputtered. The three of us just stood there, holding each other as the reality began to sink in. I was home, after what seemed like an impossible scenario had stolen me away. I’m pretty sure my mother would have been perfectly content if we had stayed that was for hours, but eventually I began to grow antsy.

“Mom, please,” I choked out the words as I began to squirm, “I need to shower,” I laughed between words at the absurdity of my request. There I was, finally reunited with my family, but all I could think about was getting clean, changing out of my linen compound clothing, and washing Namjoon’s blood out from under my fingernails.

Thankfully, I felt them loosen their grip. “Alright, sweetheart,” my mother cooed as she pulled away from me, strands of her long blonde hair sticking to her cheeks where tears had trailed there. She was smiling, but she looked almost as exhausted as I felt. I wondered how much sleep she had lost over worrying about me. “I’ll bring something up to your room to eat. It’s just as you left it,” she explained quietly as she reached up to my head. “And you might want to wash your hair twice, Zoey.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle at her words. At least some things never change. Once I was free from my parents’ grasp, I hauled myself up the stairs and towards my old room. It was, in fact, exactly as I had left it, albeit a bit cleaner. Almost robotically, I went about my usual routine, gathering my old sweatpants and an old baggy t-shirt I had always enjoyed sleeping in. I gathered up the bundle of clean clothes and shuffled to my bathroom, the shower a welcome sight for my weary eyes. Peeling off my linens was like shedding a layer of skin, the dirt, dust, and grime practically gluing them to my flesh. Under the running water, I found myself sinking down onto the floor of the shower, just relishing in the feeling. In the warm cascade of water, I watched as streams of brown and red swirled towards the drain, washing away with them my memories and all evidence of my time away. And there, seated on the cold tile floor of the shower, I finally allowed myself to let go. Hugging my knees to my chest, I shuttered as sobs wracked through my whole body. As far as I knew, they could all be dead. Namjoon could have died somewhere in China, so close to salvation, but yet so far. Jin and Yoongi would have to keep the boys together somehow, despite their own sense of loss. Jin would be beside himself. Yoongi would be strong, I told myself. My mind began to wander to dark places, so I willed myself to stand back up, washing my hair (twice) and finally getting out of there. Before pulling on my pajamas, I found myself gripping the sink, wiping away the condensation from the mirror with one of my hands, very aware that I was going to be leaving streaks that my mother would fuss about later. But I just needed to see my own smoky grey eyes looking back at me. I looked like I was about to drop dead from exhaustion. And I felt it, too.

My mom had delivered on her promise- a large bowl of macaroni and cheese sat on my desk, right next to my familiar laptop, closed with a thin layer of dust over it. Despite my overwhelming desire to simply inhale the food and pass out for several days, I myself had made a promise. Sitting down into my swiveled office chair, I opened up my laptop, stealing mouthfuls of food while it booted up. As soon as I was able, I started up YouTube. And then Google. And then it was three hours later, and my macaroni had gone cold. I had grown particularly fond of a song called ‘Just One Day’, perhaps because it meant I got to see Yoongi during the entire first verse,  but also just because its lyrics seemed oddly relevant. Maybe he was different before the Reclamation, or maybe it was just how he was, but Yoongi was incredibly animated when he was performing, both in staged videos and in live performances. I was fascinated. Eventually, it wasn’t just watching videos of the boys looking happy and healthy, but it was like a black hole of information. I even found a picture of BTS together with that Heechul guy I had briefly encountered earlier. I found interviews, and stupid variety shows, and that video of Yoongi getting electrocuted in the face. It was all entertaining, but it was also a form of torture. Eventually, I had to tear myself away, their voices stuck in my head from a particularly catchy song. I needed sleep.

The next few days were a whirlwind of activity. As soon as I got my phone re-activated, I immediately sent a text to Mira to ensure she had some way of contacting me. She responded promptly, but only to tell me she hadn't heard anything about Namjoon or Ellen. I had several appointments daily- physician, gynecologist, dentist, and even a scheduled hair cut, all courtesy of my mother. I had been extended an invitation to congress to give a statement, while the press had also been staked out outside of the house trying to get a glimpse of the girl who managed to escape Korea. My interrogator, Mr. Davis, had warned me to avoid speaking to reporters, and to leave that to higher authority. They were incredibly difficult to ignore. Thankfully, my mother was a very well known lawyer in the area, so once she started threatening legal action, the herd of journalists began to thin considerably. At the encouragement of my father, I reached out to some of my friends. I got several enthusiastic responses, but most of them were off at college or working elsewhere in the country. It was just as well. If I was being perfectly honest with myself, I wasn't ready to dive headfirst back into my old life. I had a lot to think about; I couldn't just live with my parents forever. I needed to get back to school or find a job at some point. Those thoughts, however, would need to wait. I was shipped off to Washington, DC for en entire week, my mother in tow as my and legal representation. It was always exhausting to travel with my mom. She was obsessive and over-protective, but I had to appreciate her concern, especially once we were in the capital. Once I was to enter the secure area inside the