The tires finally stopped rolling. 

Kiha was a much resented light sleeper and was instantly woken up by the sudden halt. She finds herself slipping from the ends of the seat, and having to catch herself first thing in the morning--

or night--

or whatever time of the day it was.

She felt extremely sluggish,

as if she had downed three bottles of soju the previous day.

She was sure that the make up Miok did was ruined. Her dress was also stained and tattered in various ways. 

Glancing up, she finds herself reading the digital clock that came with the car. 

4:14 A.M.

What the hell was she doing inside a taxi at four in the morning? It was the first few neutral thoughts which led her to believe that everything was okay and under control.

And then,

it all hit.

"Miok! My step-mother!" She disclosed. "Why- oh god," she combed her tangled hair back in pure habit. Inside the frenzy and jumbled up thoughts, Kiha finds himself mumbling random words and looking extremely frantic in the back seat of the taxi.

The driver taps his feet slowly as he handed the post-it note back. "You're here."

"Why?" Was all she could say, eyes tearing up once again.

"I can't say," the taxi driver hummed, carefully placing the paper into Kiha's hand,

much like how Miok did before she left. 

Glancing at the taxi driver, she was once again met with eyes.

But this was different.

It was not the same one as the assassin underneath the table. 

The driver had longer almonds. More cat-eyed, and less round. He didn't have the same sparkle, but was much more reassuring and Kiha almost fell into the trap of seeing him as someone safe.

"You have to go," the driver reminded as he faced forwards and left Kiha pondering on her own.

Kiha stumbled to find the right words as she blindly opens the car door as instructed and dumbly slunk her body out. She was wobbly and frail at all the right places. 

Her knees felt like jelly and the wintry night winds bit her exposed skin left and right. She couldn't find any words to say as she watched the taxi drive off into the night, finding her clutch bag on one hand, and a piece of paper on the other. 

With shaky hands, she tried to recall Miok's words, despite all the craze and haze.

Even thinking about the elder woman brought sharp pains in her chest. She found it more and more difficult to breath as she opened up her bag to find a foreign lump of crumpled cash inside,

alongside her previously existing belongings. 

Realising it was the money Miok entrusted her with, she blinked away the tears, raising her head up and eyes rolling as far as it could go.

She then wondered,

how did it get there?

Her best bet was the taxi driver.

But,

why was everything still inside? Why didn't he take anything? Why would he place the money inside her clutch?

And most importantly,

she never paid him.

Whipping her head up, she finds nothing but the eerie silence of the night as she blankly stares into the horizon, greeted by the shining moon and a cluster of stars.

She couldn't afford to think of it anymore.

Glancing down at the post it note, 

it read of an address (which she figured, was where she was dropped of),

'Chai',

and was signed off by 'Hosook'.

Who was Chai?

Who was Hosook?

Why her?

Why Kiha?

---

Glancing around, Kiha finished her long chain of thoughts by observing her fellow surroundings. She was dropped off at a rather peaceful neighbourhood. Judging from the lack of towering buildings, she was no longer part of the city.

She couldn't remember the time she left the residence,

but judging from how she fell asleep,

it must've been a few hours or more.

Fingers fumbling to close her clutch bag, she uncrumples the post-it note in her other hand, unconsciously gulping down her distress. Her eyes quievered as it took a taste of the letters once again and rehearsed as Miok as told her. 

"Chai," she began, "I was sent by Hosook."

And repeat.

She was sure her feet has brought her to another full circle as she made no physical progress to get to wherever Chai was. She had reread, and reread, and kept on reading the address provided. 

It was 18B.

House 18B.

But from where she was standing,

she was at house number fourty-three.

Where was she supposed to go?

And there was no way she could impose on any of the residents near by. 

With a determined heart,

she trecked here and there,

searching for house 18B.

---

"Twenty-one," she continued, "twenty," it went on, "nineteen," and the road stopped. 

She was at a dead end.

On the other side of the road, she spotted house number seventeen.

Eighteen was nowhere to be found--

much less 18B.

And so,

she has to redo the count all over again.

---

Her phone read:

5:34 A.M.

It has been roughly an hour since she left the taxi,

but she was back to where she started.

She was getting slightly aggravated and more worn-out than possible. 

Sure,

as a police in-training,

she had great stamina and durability. 

Agility was her asset,

and strength was her downfall.

But she was generally a very physically fit person due to her soon-to-be demanding occupation. 

It had been more than a rough night, 

and all that Kiha wished for was a warm bed to lie on and pretend as if nothing ever happened in the first place.

---

She was stumbling on places, leaning on walls, limping as the bottom half of her circulation had been cut off by her deadly killer heels. 

She whacked a painful palm onto her forehead,

her feet was finally showing its rebellion.

She had been wearing inches of heels throughout the whole night.

It was okay during the party, there were seats available. 

But now?

Now,