“You need to get closer to your mother.”

“She is not my mother. I don’t have a mother.”

“Well she believes otherwise. We need to use that to our advantage and get the information we need.”

Seulgi had on a stubborn look. She was always stubborn. Probably always would be. Irene knew that without a doubt. She sat down on the bed and unlaced her boots. A mechanical motion at this point. First the left boot, then the right. Out of habit, not for any particular reason. She put them down neatly and slid them under the bed. They’d be out of the way in case of any danger. So she wouldn’t trip over them like an idiot while springing to action one way or another.

“What do you want me to do, get all sweet and cuddly with her? ‘Hi, Mommy, love you lots. Hope you decide to tell me all about your secret, evil leader plans with me ‘cause I’m your one and only daughter?’.”

“Exactly.”

“Irene!”

She smiled. Reached back and began to her suit. They’d kept the agency suits, worn them explaining that they were high quality and would do more good than harm. Kang Sumin had relented. Halfway down, the zipper got stuck. She’d always resented the zipper’s placement. She tried to turn away as subtly as possible. It was futile. Seulgi noticed.

“Need a little help there?”

“I’m . . . fine.”

“Yeah. If you’re fine with looking like a fool. Come on, let me help.”

Irene sighed. She turned her back to her and let her arms drop to her sides. She refrained from moving. Even as she felt foreign hands brush against her skin. It only took a second for her to get it unstuck. The zipper went down. She motioned to turn.

“How did you get this?”

Fingers brushed against a familiar spot on her back. Just below her left shoulder blade. One of the many scars she bore. Irene froze. The feeling was foreign. She suppressed a shiver.

“Guy hit me with a bat. It splintered.”

Her voice trembled at the edges. She inwardly cursed herself then pulled away from the younger woman. She let her. She felt the flush crawling up her skin. She kept her back turned. Embarrassment. Slight panic.

Then, a tentative voice. “How many scars do you have? Major ones, I mean.”

“Five. Counting that one.”

“That’s a lot.”

“ . . . How many do you have?”

“Two. But they’re not that big.”

Irene reached up to the one across her chest. It was purely habitual. No thought involved. But she knew she’d made a mistake. Her back was turned but she knew she did it enough that it would be obvious.

“You do that a lot. I noticed.”

She nodded. A confirmation, but no explanation.

“Can I . . . see?”

A pause. Then, flustered rambling of sorts. Irene listened for a good ten seconds. Then, she turned. Stopped Seulgi mid-fragmented sentence. Looked away and tugged down the suit. Just enough to reveal the four inches of marred skin.

She’d looked at it enough and traced it enough to know the process. First, the scan of the big picture, then the slower sweep of it with the eyes. The recoil at its brutality and ugliness. She’d never shown it to anyone before. She felt vulnerable.

There was a full minute of silence. Then, “It must have hurt.”

A soft, soft voice. Something Irene would never have