She was drowning.

 

She thrashed around helplessly, trying to grab onto something with her hands. Anything that would save her. She'd tried to hold her breath, but they'd thrown her head into the water so suddenly she didn't have time to take a real breath and fill her lungs with enough air to last her this long.

 

And it felt... so long. Every second was anguish, water in her eyes and nose and mouth like acid burning through her lungs. She tried to push the iron-like hands away from her head, but it didn't work.

 

She was going to die. Her parents would not know why she'd run away from home, her brother would forever think she was an incompetent failure, and she would be just a worn-out memory at the bottom of a box in the cellar.

 

Nothing more. Because she'd let herself trust an unknown man. Because she'd believed his intentions were pure. Because she didn't believe evil people truly existed. Not in her world.

 

Stop, she tried to say, only letting more water into . I'll do anything you want, stop-

 

"It's okay," a velvet voice came from somewhere close to her ear. The voice slowly lured her out of the water, slowly brought her back to some other self from the time in which she had been trapped, in which she would always be trapped until one day she finally didn't wake up.

 

"It's just a dream," the voice continued, soothing her and making her gasps turn into pants. A hand was wiping the sweat from her forehead, and she frowned because it stung a lot. "You're not there anymore. You're with me now. You're safe."

 

Lamiya felt like she was drowning again, in some other kind of water which was burning her from the inside out and she started remembering things one by one.

 

Whom the distinctive male smell surrounding her belonged to. How he knew her, how he anchored her. Her, who had no anchor, no home, nothing to turn to except the darkness of her blade and the curse that was her endless life of inflicting pain and suffering to others. No evil can feel this way.

 

Then she remembered everything.

 

Hella's eyes shot open. "Junmyeon", she panted. "I need to save Junmyeon!"

 

"Shush," Jongin said in a silent, patient voice, as if she was a wild animal he didn't want to provoke. "It's being taken care of as we speak. Eliott has already contacted him and he's evacuating from Chicago altogether. He’d already left his office. It's okay."

 

Slowly the clutches of her past were letting her be for another day. Slowly she let herself remember that she wasn't in the training room anymore, that if she looked behind herself she wouldn't see Taemin with an aroused glint in his eyes, so proud of her for not drowning during only level two of torture practice.

 

Slowly she realized that a very worn-out and beaten-up Jongin was staring at her with regret, worry and longing in his eyes. His hand was on her cheek, cupping it gently and tracing the outer edge of her lip with his thumb.

 

When she'd seen him strung up from the ceiling, she'd lost it for a second. Even if he was an obvious traitor and manipulator - he'd never said otherwise, she'd known who he was from the beginning - nobody but her would have the pleasure to make him pay for it. And especially not a cheap-looking lowlife secretary of some mafia lord.

 

Jongin had gotten a harsh beating, that much had been obvious. They had even gotten the idea to cut one of his ears off and when she'd heard the woman say that, she'd seen red. He was hers and hers only. They were going to pay for putting a single blemish on his face and if they thought they could do anything to his ears...

 

When it was over, she came back to her senses and for the first time since the safehouse saw him for what he truly was - a cop, and an honorable one at that. It didn't matter what the two of them had shared, what they'd briefly allowed to come to happen. In the end, he was the predator and she was his prey and there was only one way for it all to end.

 

But then there was Eliott. The guy who'd put a bleeding-stop ointment on her wound and compressive gauze on her stomach within five seconds of having found her after she'd gotten away from her captors.

 

And after that it took him no longer than five minutes to bring her up to date with everything.

 

The thing was, he was supposed to hate her. She'd murdered their two friends in cold blood. Sasha had been pregnant. If she had known that, she would've…

 

No, she wouldn't have done anything differently. She had been a pawn her whole life and that would never change. She had gotten used to that a long, long time ago and accepted her fate.

 

But then again, Eliott was a smart guy. Whether it was because of what he'd gone through or something else, she didn't know, but he was always able to detect bull miles away. There was no keeping secrets with him. And he knew how the whole system worked and what their superiors did to keep them all in check. Especially people whose performance with sniper guns was far above average.

 

"I know it was Minseok," he had said while he'd applied ointment to the wound on her stomach. He'd been there when she'd gotten the scar; she didn't feel unbearably uncomfortable knowing it was now staring back at him.

 

"I also know that he's been blackmailing you, threatening you with your family’s life. I found that out a couple of hours ago, while I was getting one of those guys to talk." He wrapped the compressive gauze around her body as tight as he could, making Hella gasp and feel light in the head from the sudden constriction of her breathing.

 

"I always knew you had some dark secret, but I just thought it was something as messed-up with all of us. I didn't know you still had someone you cared about. That's the worst kind of liability in our job - they can always use it against you and you can never do anything about it."

 

She’d merely shrugged and turned her eyes away, refusing to look at him. Eliott was right, of course, but what could she do? She’d done it all to herself. She’d told Taemin everything about her family willingly, believing he was her friend, believing he was someone who loved her. And then he took the possibility of ever going back to them away from her, forever. Even after he was gone, nothing changed. That’s how much he’d hated her.

 

When Eliott had told her about Operation Tiger and how the cop had thought up a plan to try to kill her brother in order to catch her, she'd wanted to kill Jongin. For using her. For making her run off course, for shifting her focus off what was truly important, for having made her a fool. She would not forgive him for that.

 

Now, she realized she had overreacted a little bit, just like Eliott said she would. "It's not the kid's fault," he'd tried to reason with her. "They're just using him to cover up their own presence. It's them who want to lure you out. You’d kept Junmyeon’s identity and location secret for so long that they immediately seized the opportunity. That's why they'd asked you if you knew about the operation. They needed to know if you were in on it, since you had gotten involved with the detective assigned to the case. He could've told you everything."

 

But he hadn't, and that thought stung more than her split arcade and the wound that had barely stopped bleeding. Of course he hadn't told her anything about it. Everyone seemed to think that her and Jongin were a married couple. They seemed to be able to imagine them having a discussion about the dispute in which they were on the opposite sides, and where the aim was to put her behind the bars for life. A very attractive offer to think about indeed.

 

"Are you okay?" Jongin tried again gently, a small, afraid and shy smile on his face. She wanted to sink into him and drown in his honor, in his sincerity and masculinity and what she deceived herself with, saying it could be love. He was everything she wasn’t, everything that was taken away from her and that she’d taught herself to believe she’d walked out on willingly. Now that it was seemingly within her grasp again… she was slowly losing it.

 

He hadn't betrayed her after all, or at least not completely. They had pushed him out of the case, Eliott had confirmed it with his ears in the police. And he had managed to pull a favor with an old friend to give him the information about the operation. Information that would save Junmyeon, because he barely had an hour to disappear before the cavalry appeared to imprison him and push Hella further until she yielded to their demands.

 

"I'm okay," Hella whispered, not trusting her voice after the dream. She didn't trust herself with anything when it came to Jongin. "How are you feeling?"

 

This insanely honest creature grinned at her, making a strange feeling appear in her stomach. "I've seen better days," he also whispered, taking the cue. "But at least we're still alive."

 

His hand stopped tracing patterns on her cheek and he slowly leaned in and pecked her lips. It was a shy, embarrassed kiss of someone who was apologizing for screwing up. A four-year-old version of I'm sorry, but it was good enough for her.

 

He didn't lean back and Hella sighed, closing her eyes. She was already losing herself in his warmth. "I truly am sorry. I didn't know it was your brother. At the time, I'd thought it was some random gang doctor that you used when it felt convenient. If I'd known, I would've…" Jongin gulped and his hand on her cheek tightened. "I would've acted differently. I would've stopped and thought things through. I wouldn't have been so desperate to find you and hurt you."

 

Hurt her. He had wanted to hurt her by arresting and possibly even murdering her doctor. But not if he'd known it was her brother. A typical policeman.

 

"I'll still kill you if something happens to Junmyeon, apology or not," Hella said. Her hand involuntarily seeked his other one that was secured in his lap and intertwined with it.

 

Jongin once again grinned against her skin. "I bet you will," he said in a light voice.

 

They stayed like that for a moment, and she pushed away all the questions that were lurking below the surface of her mind. What does this mean? She couldn’t have any of those conversations with herself again. Does this mean he is no longer chasing after me? It never led to anything productive; she just wanted to rest for a moment, however short it might be. Is he going to betray me again?

 

Does he feel the same way about me, or is his acting that good?

 

“Hella, I…” Jongin started again, uncertainty and caution in his voice, as if he didn’t want to screw anything up again so soon. “Eliott is not here. He’d gone to take care of the shack, take any weapons that he can and possibly hunt something down for dinner. He came back about an hour ago with a small quail that had gotten caught in a trap and a flask of water for us. It’s raining, and we’re both no good for moving anywhere, so we’ll stay the night here and weather it out.”

 

Here. She leaned away from Jongin and took a first look around. They were in a cave and the sound of rain somewhere in the distance created a cozy atmosphere that seemed like a shield from the real world and everything they would sooner or later have to face. Not now.

 

We’re alone. Just the two of us.

 

The cave wasn't dark; on the contrary, his warm eyes were perfectly well lit with the flames that were dancing in his eyes. Somehow, she felt light and happy because of that. The years have finally caught up to her, it seemed, over a decade swallowed by darkness and the void that took her away from her victims, always leaving a piece of herself in their blood. And now, not surprisingly, there was little left of her.

 

She didn't want it to end in the place she'd gotten so accustomed and familiar with. She didn't want to fade away. And this man who was half-holding her in his arms now… He made her feel like maybe, just maybe, it could be worth a try.

 

Someone, and she couldn't make her mind up whether it was Eliott or Jongin, had lit torches and put them all around the cave. She doubted a detective would have that many survival skills but she knew better than to make haste decisions when it came to him.

 

She was lying down on a makeshift mattress made out of a blanket and what she knew was his jacket. That was why she'd felt overwhelmed by his smell. He had to be freezing without it, though, so she instinctively dragged him closer to her, needing him to feel warm and cozy and happy, too.

 

She felt a drop of sweat trickling down her face, and Jongin seemed to notice it too, following its path with his eyes. A second later, he put his hand on her forehead and she remembered why it’d stung so much before - her split arcade was the reason. That was why she'd had trouble with her eyesight during the torture - it had been due to the blood trickling down one side of her face.

 

"You're unnaturally warm," Jongin declared, wiping the sweat from her forehead. "The wound is probably going to get infected. We need to get you to your brother as soon as possible."

 

She smiled ironically. "I've survived worse ordeals, detective. I've had to climb a tree and wrestle with hunting dogs not that long ago, and I'm still here."

 

Jongin put one hand on her thigh. His other hand clutched the hem of her shirt. "Still, I need to get a look at that wound. Eliott says it's not something to brush off. He'd prepared more ointment for me to dress it and clean it."

 

Lamiya froze. She spoke her next words slowly and cautiously. "Let him take care of that when he gets back. When is he getting back, anyway?"

 

She tried to brush it away, the feeling that was pooling at the bottom of her stomach. She told herself it's nothing it's nothing don't let him notice over and over again but it didn't work. Maybe it was the fever. Maybe she was too exhausted. Maybe she was just sick of pretending and couldn't lie properly anyway.

 

Either way, he noticed there was something wrong. His fingertips found her hands again and started drawing soothing circles on them.

 

"That's the thing," he said, and she could see how much he disliked the fact that she was seemingly uncomfortable with him. She felt the same way. "He's coming back with your brother Junmyeon. That's not happening in the next 48 hours, for sure, so we need to hang tight and wait."

 

Lamiya gulped. "But we need to-" she tried.

 

Jongin shook his head. "We're being hunted. Both of us. Eliott saw a patrol when he was coming back from the hunting trip. They've been looking around, trying to follow our footprints. He can find his way around them, but the two of us in this shape with your abdomen wound? No way."

 

Now she sighed and closed her eyes. She tried to tell herself everything was fine, but she knew it wasn't.

 

She went back to another time in her mind, to the day when she'd felt something similar to this.

 

Everything was perfect. She'd made her first kill, Tae was so very proud of her, she even had a new name - Hella, and her friends weren't making fun of her for it.

 

Today, she was officially becoming a member of Tae's organization.

 

But if everything was fine, then why did she feel like she was missing something? Like there was something terribly wrong, just waiting around the corner to reveal itself?

 

As Tae approached her with the largest grin she'd ever seen on his face, the feeling intensified.

 

When he unsheathed his knife and she saw that it had a completely black surface, she knew that she was missing everything. She was a lamb that had no idea it had been surrounded by wolves this whole time. And now that she’d walked into their territory, she finally saw them for who they were.

 

But it was too late. There was no turning back now. She'd chosen this… and she would have to live with it.

 

Now, so many years later, she found that her breathing was becoming labored as if she was going to have a panic attack for the first time after it had happened. Afterwards, she’d never let herself panic again. It was just cold determination, being totally fine with possibly dying the next day and not feeling anything about anything. Why couldn’t she feel the same way now? Why did it matter now?

 

"I'm sorry," Jongin said in a voice that made her want to cry. She didn't deserve any of his kindness, yet he seemed so ready to give it to her. "I know you're not feeling comfortable with this. I'm not going to do anything, I promise - I'm just going to tend to your wound. Nothing else."

 

She felt tears prickling in her eyes and she instinctively turned her head from him. She tried to take a deep breath but found that she couldn't. Why did he have to assume that it was his fault and only make it harder for her?

 

"No," she said in a harsh whisper, shaking her head frantically. "No, it's not…"

 

He waited patiently for her. She decided she would not break down, not here, not like this. She was stronger than this. She was stronger than it all. She'd survived the humiliation once; she could do it again. This was nothing.

 

Her voice was a broken, raspy whisper as she turned to look at him, her eyes blurry but her gaze defiant.

 

"I… there's something I don't want you to see. Something I don't want anyone to see, ever."

 

Jongin's gaze was so warm. She crumbled underneath it slowly, for he was her Pacific ocean, slowly and silently washing out her shores and taking a part of her with him every time they collided. It was only a matter of time before she was back on that bridge again, staring down into endless darkness, into endless freedom. It was only a matter of time before she decided to let go.

 

He was the only anchor still holding her at bay. He leaned in, once again intertwining his fingers with her own, and slowly inhaled her hair as he put a small kiss onto her neck that seemed to say I understand, It’s okay, Just hold on for me, please hold on.

 

Could she hold on?

 

"Do you trust me?" he asked now, his voice close to her ear, his lips slowly grazing its underside. She shivered.

 

The answer was simple; how could she not trust him, him who had knew her enough to be able to track her car to her brother's office, him who had given her breakfast in the safe house, who had danced with her on the masked ball, who had given her himself in the darkness of the water during that night.

 

She did. She trusted him with her whole being, even though it went against everything she'd been taught to believe. And she’d been taught to believe nothing.

 

The worst thing you can do is start trusting someone, Tae's voice echoed in her head. Or fall in love with them. Loving people is a liability. It makes you lose focus, become sloppy and get yourself killed.

 

You put the gun in their hands when you start trusting them. You give them the permission to shoot.

 

She didn't dare open her eyes while Kai burned a trail down her neck with his lips. She didn't dare move while his hands slowly, patiently and painfully slowly lifted the hem of her shirt.

 

She'd thought she would be stronger than this.

 

It took her no longer than two seconds to turn her head away and start weeping.

 

Her honorable detective froze. And that moment, the moment in which realization hit him, it killed her.

 

Trusting them makes you get yourself killed.

 

That's what she felt like now - as if she was dying. She shouldn't have let him talk her into this. Dying from an infection would've been a more acceptable fate. Now he would always know what she was, what she could never escape from, what she would always be underneath no matter how she dressed, no matter what she tried to do to make it disappear.

 

She'd screamed while she'd tried to pry the skin off her stomach in an attempt to destroy the scar. But it had hurt too much, it was an area that was too sensitive, and she'd passed out from the pain, not having done the job.

 

"You can go now," she whispered through the tears, not wanting to suffer any more than this, not wanting to prolong this agony. She needed to be alone. She needed to get her head on straight and talk herself out of the desperate state she was in. She needed to let go.

 

But Jongin didn't move away. He held on, too.

 

Without making a sound, seemingly without breathing, he slowly traced the scar with his fingertips. She didn’t dare breathe either.

 

Her stomach contained her brand. The stamp that was put onto her so that she’d never forget what she was and who she belonged to.

 

.

 

Trash.

 

Slave.

 

All bundled in a tight line, done by none other than the master sadist tattooist Taemin, who’d laughed maniacally while she’d howled in pain, who’d said Don’t hold her so tight while I work, it will be even better if she makes the cut deeper during the struggle to the men holding her on the day she’d become a member of his organization.

 

He'd loved her pain so much. He feasted on it as if it was the most tasteful meal in the world and her dry until there was nothing left to hurt or feel.

 

And now, since it had been so long, something had resurfaced again. She was feeling again. And it hurt.

 

"Hella," he said gently. His hand remained on her stomach, and it was so cold. She was burning up, but everything around her seemed to be freezing. She wished her heart would freeze over, too.

 

His other hand lifted her chin and turned her face towards him.

 

"Hella, look at me. Please."

 

The hollowness and desperacy in his voice made her open her eyes. Her vision was blurry, but she needed to see him. She needed to try to find something in his eyes, although she didn't know what it was.

 

Salvation? Understanding? Or just plain… love?

 

The fire was still dancing in his eyes. Could it melt down the frozen hell that was her life?

 

"You are beautiful," he said slowly, leaning down while his hand remained on her stomach, covering her scar.

 

Then he removed it and kissed the tender skin that she'd tried and failed to peel away.

 

That, right there, was the drop that spilled the glass.

 

The frozen ice cracked and melted away.

 

She sobbed loudly and the tears started streaming down her face.

 

All this time, all these years…

 

"Why now?" she whispered while he kissed her stomach again. "Why do I have to meet you now? Why not five or ten years ago? Where were you then?"

 

"Everything happens exactly when it's supposed to," he whispered against her skin. The hem of her shirt rode up, up and he chased it with his lips, reaching her sternum and passing it with a trace of hot kisses until he reached first her neck, and then her lips again.

 

"To have met you, to have been able to call you mine, even for a moment…"

 

His lips lingered over her own. His hand never left her stomach all this time, tracing patterns meant to chase the ghosts of the past away.

 

"That is what I've lived for all these years, I know now. That is why fate has been playing this game on me.

 

You are my curse and my freedom, and may God help me, but I don't want anything else than to be with you now and lose myself in you."

 

He kissed her then, and this time, it was not naive or shy. It was the hot, desperate kiss of a man drunk on love, who had spent too much time without a drink and couldn't spend a second longer without it.

 

Through the haze of her fever, Hella found that she felt the same way.

 

Reason, common sense, logic… None of it mattered anymore. Not the hushed voices that were telling her this was some trap nor the paranoid shell that was begging her to come back into it.

 

She wanted nothing more than to lose herself in him, too.

 

And lose herself she did, not being able to distinguish whether her skin was on fire because she was burning up or because he was burning with her, too.