All hybrids were human. Jeonghan, Minghao, Wonwoo, Vernon, Soonyoung. Every hybrid on the planet. The world was in disarray. The President was missing. His house had been emptied but for the secret dying boy in the basement.

At the end of the day, much was different, so Jihoon and Seungcheol took little notice of the ensuing global politics.

Chan, the sick boy in his sterile room, had learned a lot – perhaps too much, for a young boy. But he seemed to be a perky kid who took every opportunity he could, and that was promising for his outlook on life. He asked Jihoon to teach him poker next time. Jihoon told him: not until he was eighteen.

Soonyoung and Wonwoo went through a process of extreme grief for Seokmin in the months that followed their loss of hybrid identity. To have finally had him back – after all that had happened – to have him ripped from their hands, was almost too much to bear. If they hadn’t had each other, they probably wouldn’t have made it.

Minghao enrolled in university. Jeonghan and Jun were endlessly proud of him. Minghao cried in happiness when he received his acceptance letter.

Jihoon spent days agonizing over his mother’s death – the time they could have and should have had together, the mismade life of an assassin he had been forced to live since. He grieved for what could have been, what should have been. But Seungcheol was always there to dry his tears, dissuade his fears, and hush his nightmares