Prologue

Haeun reached the body when it was still warm. Or perhaps it was the blood. She had no idea, but the terrible, metallic smell pierced every one of her senses, demanding her attention, demanding for her to pay special heed to the body—once, her father, now someone she did not recognize—that laid sprawled inelegantly on the floor. A small shotgun had rolled from his hands and landed a couple feet to the right.

There was no note. There was no warning. One minute he had cooked her dinner, then the next a gunshot had shattered the quiet of the house.

She knelt next to him and screamed and cried until she couldn’t breathe or see properly through her vision. The smell of blood was so encompassing that Haeun thought she would smell it for the rest of her life. It was on her hands, too, on her pajamas and her skin and on her face when she rubbed her eyes, to no avail.

One of the neighbours heard the gunshot. Or her screaming. Or both.

By the time the police had arrived, Haeun stopped crying. By the time they had cleaned her hands and hair and