She opened her eyes groggily, not quite aware of her surroundings yet. Her body felt strangely hot…

 

The world was hazy, and she thought she heard some unknown voice say She’s already waking up from the distance. Waking up…

 

She had dreamed of being picked up and carried for a long time. She had dreamed of arms which were strong, which would never drop her, arms which did not exist. Everywhere around her was a scent so distinctly male, a cologne that seemed familiar somehow, that reminded her of a dance and of masks and of brown eyes…

 

It was a beautiful dream, she was forced to admit, though her dreams usually did not leave her feeling warm and bubbly. She did not like warmth. It reminded her of a knife dipped in fire and of burning skin and-

 

The mist lifted off her eyes.

 

In front of her was a wretched face of a middle-aged man. For some reason, there was a big slash all over his face, with fresh blood still gushing out of it.

 

Somehow, she felt as if she was supposed to remember what happened, but she was still too disoriented. Her mind kept wanting for her to return into the dream, into the warmth of his welcoming hands where she could pretend for a moment longer that somehow it could all last.

 

She remembered a sky full of stars. It was a sight she got to see often, since it was not an unusual situation for her to have to hide from the public or the police chasing her. Actually, now that she thought about it, she’d spent a lot more time out in the open, in woods and swamps and caves instead of in the civilization.

 

Though it means she was an outcast at best, she much preferred it that way. The scent of asphalt made her wretch.

 

“Good morning, sleeping beauty,” the sliced-face guy roared. “Have you gotten enough rest? D’you want us to get you breakfast on a silver plate? Perhaps some caviar while we’re at it?”

 

She attempted to raise her eyebrow, but she found that she couldn’t.

 

Then she tuned into what was happening with her body, and realized that the burning feeling was coming from everywhere - her muscles were burning, her skin felt as if it was lighted on fire, and she couldn’t move the fingers of her hands, no matter how hard she tried.

 

What the hell had they done to her?

 

She tried to turn her head to inspect her body, but a slap stopped her.

 

“Don’t you dare ignore me, you little !” The man roared again. Before she had a chance to blink, he slapped her again. She felt some liquid sliding down the left side of her face - the side where the eyebrow which she couldn’t lift was.

 

“Stop it, Chuck,” another voice piped up - again, it was one she didn’t recognize, though she felt as if she’d heard it before. Damn it, why couldn’t she remember? “If you keep it up, you’re going to make her cry.”

 

Both men laughed and she heard footsteps, but blinking did not help lift the fog off her eyesight. She did not like the fact that she couldn’t see, couldn’t move her body or that she couldn’t remember where the hell she was and what was going on.

 

She was being tortured, that much was obvious. She had passed away while the torture was taking place, that was easy to conclude too.

 

But who were they, and what did they want with her? How had they even gotten their hands on her? She couldn’t remember what she was doing before all of this happened.

 

She only remembered the dream…

 

She wanted to be back at that place, back in his lap with his nose in her hair, breathing her scent in. She wanted to listen to the waves crashing against the shore, suspended at a place that was neither the sea nor the ground, on that little bridge that made her feel at home.

 

She wanted to look at the lighthouse again.

 

She wanted to see the reflection of its light in his eyes.

 

“I think she’s passed away again.”

 

“No, no, you can see her eyes moving behind her eyelids. Look.” A shadow passed in front of her closed eyes, and she involuntarily followed it. “The last time we knocked her unconscious, this didn’t happen.”

 

The last time? How long was this taking place?

 

“Huh.” She heard another couple of footsteps, and then a strong pain at her scalp - the bastard was pulling her hair now.

 

She gasped, and her eyes opened again. Her eyesight was still fuzzy, but she could make out the silhouette of some man. It didn’t even matter how he looked - she would recognize him by his voice and then slit his throat. “Hello there! We don’t have all day! Quit your screwing around and let’s have a nice little chat, now, shall we?”

 

She could do nothing but narrow her eyes at him, hoping it would get the message across. You can go and screw yourself for all I care.

 

“Now, I will ask you again.”

 

She struggled to keep her eyes open. The waves were crashing in the distance.

 

Now they’d ask her who she was working for.

 

“What is your relationship with Kim Jongin?”

 

Time stopped for a second. The fog cleared from her eyes, allowing her to see a blonde with creases around his blue eyes. And the knife in his hand, ready to start cutting through her skin once again at any moment.

 

Not him. They could touch anything and everything except him.

 

“He is my mortal enemy,” she answered in a breath. “The detective that’s been hunting me for years.”

 

“You think we’re gonna buy that?” the other man said with a groan, and suddenly she was breathless - he’d hit her straight in the chest. “Stop lying, you worthless piece of !”

 

“Now, now,” the blonde said with a tsk. “We’ve been through this before. You lie, you get cut. You say the truth, and we leave you be for a bit longer without cutting. Though that might not be to your liking, because we’ll only be prolonging your pain.”

 

“What d’you say, Chuck? Do you think this is lying or not?”

 

She tried to gulp, but it proved to be incredibly tough to do so. At least she’d managed to move her fingers - thankfully, she still had them, which was a nice thing to know. Perhaps there was still hope for her to survive.

 

The guy with the sliced face - Chuck - squeezed her neck with his fingers, and leaned into his face. “Liar,” he growled as he squeezed harder. “You don’t dance with enemies. You don’t sit in enemies’ laps.”

 

The blonde tsked again, but his voice moved further and further away as less and less oxygen remained in her lungs. The squeeze faltered, as if they didn’t want her to pass out again.

 

“Too bad. That means Chuck’s gotta cut you now, you know.”

 

She didn’t even get a chance to take a breath when a burning pain blinded her. A knife was being dragged along her ribs.

 

She did not make a sound, except for when she caught her first breath. She wouldn’t give the bastards a chance to revel in her pain.

 

No evil can look like this. No evil can feel like this.

 

Lamiya wanted to whimper and cry. For the first time in a long time, she had felt something other than pain and detached nothingness. Yes, it had left her feeling confused, but it had also left her wanting to feel more of it.

 

She knew these guys wouldn’t stop until they were satisfied. But what was it that they’d wanted her to say? She tried to think quickly.

 

“My lover,” she spat. “Now…” she stopped as the knife’s tip cut deeper into her side. “Go to hell.”

 

“Now we’re moving somewhere,” the blonde said from somewhere. She couldn’t see him, her eyes were failing her and she focused on the pain involuntarily.

 

You should think of this as preparation for future torture, she heard him say. If you don’t get to experience it now, you won’t be able to get yourself out of it when it really happens.

 

She could feel her legs now, too. She now knew that she was in a sitting position, with some kind of wall behind her back. She also knew she wasn’t tied, because she’d tried to move slightly and managed to do so without any problems.

 

Why she couldn’t remember anything of the previous torture or why there was a steady pain on her neck, preventing her from moving her head around, she still had no idea.

 

“So as his lover, you should know all about Operation Tiger, right?” The blonde ruffled her hair, and the gesture hurt for some reason.

 

You are not evil, a sweet, desperate voice echoed in her head.

 

Even in the dream, she could not have him understand her. Of course he couldn’t - there was no valid explanation for her actions. Nobody could justify what she’d been doing - before it, she’d kept telling herself that she was doing it because she had to.

 

But oh, it was so much different.

 

She had enjoyed her first real kill. The kill she didn’t have to make, yet she’d chosen to do it anyway. And she’d felt alive after doing it.

 

Another slap made her blink. Chuck roared, “Operation Tiger. When are they going to try to kill him? How many of them are going to be there?”

 

This time, they did not wait for her answer. The knife stabbed into her side again, and she felt it reach her bone.

 

She couldn’t help the little sound that came out of .

 

Every time you make a sound, I will cut the same place. I will do it over and over again until you learn to keep your ing mouth shut like a true member of my gang.

 

She welcomed the burn that came with the cut, ashamed of herself for letting that little moment of weakness. She felt as if she was falling apart, but she had to keep her strength in order to use it when they dropped their guard, thinking she was incapable of defending herself.

 

Oh, Chuck was so going to die for every single cut.

 

“I have…” she took a deep breath. Every cell hurt, but she had to do it. “No idea what you’re talking about.”

 

The blonde groaned.

 

The knife cut into her side again. Chuck pulled it out, then stabbed the same place again. And again. And again.

 

What is your first name, Hella? she heard a gentle voice say. She tried to stay focused on her mission, to not lose her consciousness, but it got harder to do so with every stab.

 

She wanted to be back in his arms. She wanted to drown in the salty water. She wanted to keep feeling.

 

So when they start torturing you, no matter what they do, it can never be as bad as this. You’ll be ready for everything they might do.

 

She balled her hands into fists. opened. “Wait, Chuck, she’s ready to speak.” Chuck didn’t give a hell about what the blonde was saying - the knife stabbed into the same place again.

 

You won’t feel the pain, because there won’t be anything in you left to feel. You’ll know how to get over your freaking self and fight.

 

“I will…” she barely managed to say in a raspy voice. She blinked, but it did her no good - she couldn’t see anything. Her whole body was burning, her limbs were numb and she couldn’t take a breath.

 

Why aren’t you moving your head away, detective?

 

A small part of her wanted to believe that he felt as attracted to her as she did. That though they were supposed to end up killing each other, she didn’t give a damn about any of it. All she wanted was to get into his lap and kiss him until nothing else existed.

 

“What, ?” Chuck said. The knife started turning while still stuck somewhere between her ribs. The world turned red, and she gasped. “You’re finally gonna tell us all about Operation Tiger? About time you stopped wasting my energy and bleeding all over me, you filthy-”

 

Are you gonna let me ruin your pretty little stomach, Lamiya?

 

Or are you gonna fight?

 

Her body moved on her own. She couldn’t see anything, but she didn’t need to. Her legs wrapped around Chuck’s own, while her hands caught his wrist at her side.

 

She pushed, and he lost his balance, taking her to the ground with himself. “What the hell?” he screamed, but he did not get a chance to act.

 

Swiftly, as if she was pulling it out of its sheath, she pulled the knife out of her ribs. She did not care about the blood she could feel gushing out of the wound. She did not care about the pain.

 

All that mattered was that she’d managed to take him by surprise. That she’d managed to get the knife out of his hand.

 

She stabbed by feeling, The butcher screamed once, twice, and after the third stab, he stopped thrashing and clawing at her.

 

Her sight was slowly returning to her, thankfully, but she knew she couldn’t wait. The blonde was still alive.

 

She kneeled next to her body’s victim, blinking and trying to make out the silhouette of the other man. She crouched, keeping her arms as close to her chest as possible in order to not lose the knife. She knew that if she failed to kill the bastard now, she would die.

 

Hell, she didn’t care if she died anyway. They would not win. They would not get away with making her go through it again.

 

It’s just convenient that those little sounds you’re making feel so good. I don’t want anyone else to hear your pain ever again. So let’s finish this off, Lamiya. You look so beautiful now, with this new… tattoo of yours.

 

The blonde was smart. He didn’t make a sound, as if knowing that it was the only way for her to determine his location. She knew that with every passing second she would lose more and more of her blood, so she needed to end things right now.

 

Something pushed her back. He was attempting to pin her down on the floor and kill her, but he would not succeed.

 

She let out a carnal scream and attempted to push him away, but did not succeed in doing do.

 

“The end of the road for you, ,” he roared in her ear as he squeezed the life out of her.

 

She made a desperate attempt at moving her legs, but failed. He was going to kill her. She couldn’t breathe, so she tried to save her breath and make that last try to survive.

 

Before he could pin her arms to the ground, she swung the knife towards herself. She did not know whether she would hit her own head or his own, but she had to take that chance. She had to make that choice in order to survive.

 

The knife hit something solid.

 

Mine. This body is mine, forever. Always remember that, Lamiya.

 

You can act cold and ruthless all you want but I’ll be the only one who’ll be able to see beneath your shirt even while you’re wearing it.

 

Nobody will ever have you but me.

 

The blonde moaned and fell onto her.

 

She had made the gamble and succeeded. She knew it was far from over, though. She had no idea where she was, she had God knew how many wounds and she needed to treat her wound before she bled to death in this forsaken place.

 

But first she needed to get out of this freaking place. She had no idea whether her torturers were dead, though she was pretty sure she’d killed them both. She also had no idea if more were waiting outside, or how the hell they’ve even captured her and when.

 

She’d think about everything when she was back to safety.

 

She wiggled underneath the blonde’s body until she was free. Then she took a moment to take a breath. She found that she couldn’t, but she didn’t let herself feel anything. She was stronger than this, she was prepared for this.

 

She paused with her hand on the hem of her own shirt after she’d managed to sit up again. She could make out the color of the room’s walls now, which was a very good thing. She seemed to be in some cabin, because the walls were made up of wood, with paintings hanging around. Some seemed to be splattered with blood.

 

What had she almost done? She couldn’t tear her own shirt, not unless it was a case of uttermost emergency.

 

Without letting her mind go to that place, she leaned over, refusing to feel any pain again, and tore the blonde’s shirt. He didn’t move, which meant the knife had killed him.

 

She secured the cloth around her waist, tightening it as much as she could, which left her gasping again. She couldn’t move her head to look at her stomach, which was making her worry, but she knew what she’d see anyway - it would be a bloody mess, one that she planned to ignore until she was somewhere else.

 

She inspected her body for any further wounds that needed to be treated immediately and found none, except for a sticky place on her nape, which seemed to explain a lot. She must’ve hit her head on the a stone, or they’d hit her while torturing her, which was explaining why she couldn’t remember the most recent events.

 

She remembered enough, though - killing her comrades, going to Chinatown, thinking about ending it all on that bridge… but everything afterwards was hazy, a dream, because the detective couldn’t have been there, and he couldn’t have taken her to that place for real.

 

But what if it was all true? What if they’d kidnapped him too? What if they were torturing him in some other room now?

 

She kept repeating to herself that she did not give a damn. He was better off dead, and if he died, she would finally have some peace because the bloodsucker would stop breathing down .

 

Yet she got up quickly and didn’t let the spinning room stop her - she tried to make a sense of her surroundings, and realized that she was in the living room of a cabin indeed, with a table turned over and some chairs in the corner, and lots of blood all over the place. The rug at the center of the room had many puddles of blood, and in front of the fireplace, in which the fire was still burning, were different kinds of knives.

 

Her black blade was among them.

 

She immediately strolled over to it, though the burning sensation threatened to make her retch and roll over in pain. She had to keep going. She had to survive.

 

She had to free him from them.

 

Instead of taking off for the big door in the distant corner of the room which were obviously the front door of the cabin, she went over to the other door which probably led to the bedroom. If he was there…

 

She prayed that he was there. She prayed that he wasn’t.

 

For the first time in a very, very long while, she felt scared. Of him being dead. Of herself dying without getting the chance to save him. Of what losing him would do to her.

 

She’d never feared death. Dying would mean finally getting some peace. She would float in meaningless emptiness, feeling nothing. That was so very familiar and normal for her.

 

But now, she did not want to go to the big void, where it would be dark. She wanted to see the stars again. She wanted to watch the lighthouse and envy it for never getting tired, for never staying out of light.

 

She wanted to see that place again. She wanted for him to take her there. And she wanted to ask him why.

 

There was nobody in the bedroom. Only bloody sheets and destruction. But no humans, neither from the gang of the people who’d asked her Operation Tiger - whatever that was, or from the police.

 

The detective was safe, she knew. He was going to carry out that operation and catch a messed-up villain.

 

She left the cabin, finding no food or water inside. It seemed like it hadn’t been a long while since they’d captured her, because she didn’t feel any hunger. She hoped she’d remember everything soon.

 

But now she needed to run away before more people arrived. She had no idea in which way they operated, and she didn’t want to know - all she wanted was to get stitched up by Doc before she died.

 

She clutched the gun tightly in her hand. If bad came to worse… she knew what she’d do.

 

But not tonight.

 

And not by your own hand.

 

She scoffed as she left the cabin, already feeling weak. She was in the middle of some woods, and she had no idea how she’d gotten there. Why this was their place of choice for the torture. But they weren’t restraining themselves, which meant they knew they wouldn’t be heard. This place was far away from any civilization.

 

She entered the woods, feeling the life slowly seeping out of her, soaking the cloth around her hips.

 

She was going to die here.

 

What is your real name, Hella? She did not know whether it was all just a figment of her imagination or not, but the question she remembered him asking over and over again made her smile.

 

As if it’d make any difference. If he knew her real name, he’d just feel sorry for her, and pity was something that made her kill. Pity was something she couldn’t forgive.

 

So she focused on her next step, counting in her head to keep herself from thinking about anything else.

 

Would he feel sad if she died?

 

Would he ever even find her in this forsaken place? She knew he would, because for some reason, he’d woved to find her no matter what.

 

The sound of the waves got louder and louder. She kept walking, not wanting to meet the darkness yet.

 

But she knew she didn’t have a lot of time. The sun was setting, and the wolves were howling somewhere in the woods. They’d smell her blood. She would be able to fight off one or two, but a whole pack…

 

Why, detective? Why did you bring me to that place?

 

Why did you make me feel this way?

 

Why don’t you just kill me already? What are you waiting for?

 

The light kept getting dimmer and dimmer…

 

And then it went out.

 

I’m sorry.

 

I’m sorry for not being strong enough, Tae. You should’ve trained me harder.

 

She collapsed, giving in to the feeling of pain and tiredness. It was so cold…

 

I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.

 

She did not fear death.

 

She feared not getting to see his eyes again.

 

So instead of having her long, miserable life pass before her eyes, that’s what she saw.

 

Two brown eyes full of light and understanding. As hollow as her own, yet full of life and compassion.

 

A wretched part of her mind wanted to think that her eyes looked the same way, but she knew they didn’t. There was nothing in them, and hadn’t been for quite a while.

 

His eyes glistened. Don’t cry, she wanted to say. I got to see you again. For a lost soul like me, that is more than enough.

 

It was time to go, she knew.

 

She hoped he found peace when she was gone.

 

His eyes slowly faded away. All that remained was the endless void of darkness.

 

She welcomed it.