The closer we get to my hometown, the more my stomach churns. For the past hour, I've been resisting the urge to look over my shoulder at the other passengers, wondering what type of threat might be lurking there. Instead, I fidget in my seat and tap the armrest with my fingers, unable to sit still. Ever since we left the hotel I've had this uneasy, vulnerable feeling, as though something ominous and deadly might spring out of every shadow. Sehun insisted it would be unlikely that a fellow Strategia would be on the bus with us, but he insisted I wear a wig, which he just happened to have in his luggage, like it's common to pack disguises along travel-sized deodorant.

I stare out the bus window, watching the familiar tree-lined highway, but the monotony of it only unsettles me more. I pull at the edge of the lopsided scarf Jisoo knitted for me last winter and look at Sehun, who seems lost in thought himself. The bus slows, but instead of feeling relieved that the wait is over, I'm even more worried. Worried that I'll find something at my house that will confirm that appa's in danger. And worried I won't find anything at all.

"Coming?" Sehun says, and I realize the bus had stopped and he's already standing. He pulls down our bags from the overhead compartment.

"Right," I say.

I sneak a look at the other passengers on the bus as I stand. They seem like regular people-two families, one with a sleeping baby, a couple of girls in their twenties with headphones on, and so on. But if a Strategia were on this bus, wouldn't they blend in as ordinary, too? How would I ever know if we were being followed?

No one else gets up and I'm grateful; if someone from my town were on this bus, they would likely recognize 
me, wig or not, and badger me with questions about where I had disappear to for the last few weeks. The entire town would know I was here within the hour and Sheriff Jackson would be knocking on my door.

I followed Sehun down the aisle and outside. The trees are bare and the air is freezing, even in the afternoon sun. I pull my hat down farther over my ears and tuck my hands into my gloves. The bus pulls away, revealing Spring Day Lane-a street that I've walked down more times than I can count.

"You see these roses," eomma says, pointing to the bushes covered in pale pink flowers that crowd both sides of the street. "These are beach roses. Rosa rugosa."

"Rosa rugosa," I repeat.

"Here, smell," eomma says, bending down and bringing one of the pink flowers to my nose. My face lights up and she smiled at my reaction. "Delicious, aren't they? Wild roses always smell the best. You know why?"

I shake my head.

"Because they ones you buy at the florist prioritize their looks over their other properties," she says like it's a shame. "But these? These are hardy. They are strong and bold and even though they love the sun, they aren't afraid of a little frost. They are edible and the leaves and hips have medicinal purposes. When I gave you the middle name Rose, I named you after this kind of rose, not the kind that makes a pretty bouquet but isn't good for much else."

She slips her warm hand back in mine and we continue our walk. As I stare up at her, I can't help but he proud of all she knows.

"We should get off the main road," Sehun says, watching me curiously.

I sigh, pulling myself out of my memory. "Jeongsan is a block that way," I say, pointing to my right. And an unexpected sadness washes over me. Even though I'm close, I can't go there, not unless I want all of Jeongsan following me down the street like our town's parade. "But we can't take the streets, even the back streets. I would run into at least ten people I know. We'll have to take the woods." I look down at my scuffed, mud-strained boots and his shiny laced ones. "Will you be okay in those?"

"More than okay," he says. "Since there's no snow, we won't leave much in the way of tracks; the woods are ideal."

I take my duffel bag from his shoulder and lead him through the forest-a route I've taken so many times that I could narrate every twisted trunk and bent limb before we got to it. Out steps are mostly silent, even though I don't anticipate running into anyone. In all the years I've lived here, I've only ever seen hikers in these woods in the summertime.

Our breath billows out in front of us in white clouds and I run my gloved fingers over a gnarled trunk that I nicknamed Mr. Lau as a child because I swore it had a face like my Language teacher. As we get closer to my property, I pick up my pace, anticipation fueling my steps. I suddenly have this urge to run to my house, fling open the door, and call for appa. And as that desire gets more insistent, my chest begins to ache. Will I ever do that again? Will appa and I ever come back here?

"Do you want to talk about it?" Sehun says, and there is none of his usual charm, just a kind offer.

"I don't know," I say, and I'm quiet for a few more steps, trying to figure out how to verbalize feelings that I haven't fully processed myself. "Everything looks and feels so familiar and yet it's all . . . just out of my reach. This is my home. I know this place better than anywhere in the world-every porch, the brick sidewalks pushed up by old tree roots, Mr. Mang, who makes the best cakes in all of Jeongsan and who's been the reigning champion at the province fair seven years in a row, and Mrs. Baek, who has an antiques store and organizes the farmers' market in Sundays. The way you can't park in front of the candy shop for more than an hour, because the owner is the crankiest human alive and will leave you rude notes. Everything. Jisoo." My voice craches in her name and I take a breath. "I'm finally home, something I've been dreaming about for weeks, and yet I'm not. Appa's not here, I can't talk to anyone, and I need to sneak around quietly without calling attention to myself. When what I really want to do is match right into town square and get a big cup of hot cocoa with marshmallows from Sunmi's diner." When I stop speaking, my chest deflates, and I realize how many feelings I've been hiding.

For a split second Sehun seems taken aback by the intensity of my emotion for Jeongsan, and after a moment of thought he nods. "You'll be able to come back here," he says in a reassuring voice.

I want so badly to believe him. "Will I, though?"

"Yes. We'll find your father and do what we need to in order to stop the Tigers from hunting you-even if it means we need to take out the whole group of them." His tone is definite.

I know that what he's saying is highly improbable, but I also know he's reassuring me out of kindness. And I need a little kindness more than I need harsh reality right now. I sigh. "Just take out the most powerful Strategia Family. Sounds like a breeze."

"See? You're getting into the spirit alr-" Sehun stops shirt, and I instantly know why.

"Tires on dirt?" I whisper, and turn toward the noise. "From where we are . . ." I examine the trees around me and my stomach twists. "Oh my, it's coming from my driveway. There's nothing else close enough." I point. "I live just through the trees at the top of that hill."

My heart races and my mind spins, searching for possibilities of who it might be. For a fleeting moments, I get my hopes up that maybe it's appa returning home to tell me this whole nightmare is over and that I never have to think about it again.

I run for the top of the hill, keeping my steps quiet, and Sehun runs by my side. We crouch down behind a patch of brush that had a good view of my small white house with its black shutters, and black door. My eyes widen. But it's not the longing for my house that shakes me-it's the old silver KIA pulling to a stop in my driveway.

"Jisoo?" I whisper to myself, and I'm flooded with so many emotions that I can't breathe.

I stand up. I need to run to her, hug her, and tell her how incredibly sorry I am for not saying goodbye. I need her to know that I had no choice in going and that I didn't willingly disappear. But before I can take a step, Sehun pulls me back down into the brush cover.

"Don't," he whispers, and his eyes hold a warning.

"But that's my best . . . I have to," I say, desperation in my voice. I yank my arm, but he has a solid grip on me.

"And what if someone is watching your house? If someone is watching Jisoo?" he whispers back. "Think, Suzy. I can see by your face how much she means to you. Don't put your friend in danger like I once did."

I shake my head stubbornly, tears forming in my eyes. I can't be this close to Jisoo and do nothing. "If the Tigers already knew about Jeongsan, why did Yoo threaten to kill us if I didn't tell him where this place was?"

Sehun's expression is serious. "Two possibilities: One, the Tigers figures it out and because of communication delay at the Academy, Yoo did not know yet. Or two, Yoo wasn't privy to all the information his Family had. You have no idea what the Tigers know and what they don't know. Are you willing to risk her life on an assumption?"

Jisoo gets out of her car and I look away from Sehun. Her hair is down and curled and she wears red earmuffs, a king pea oat that flares at the waist, and impractical high-heeled winter boots. She rubs her nose with her red-mittened hand and carries a white long-stemmed rose in the other. I clench my jaw, trying to keep my tears at bay.

"These," Jisoo says, pointing to a cluster of orchids in the flower shop. "Purple orchids are the prettiest flower, don't you think? They just scream elegance."

I glance at the price tag and take a deep breath. "What about roses?" I offer.

"Roses are your thing," Jisoo says, like it's obvious.

"Correction, roses are not my thing. It's just my middle name," I say, and immediately regret it. I love roses, and when eomma was alive she kept vases of them in our house all summer long.

"If this were your birthday, I would get you white roses," Jisoo says, because even if I claimed I don't have an affinity for them, she knows me too well. "But it's not your birthday. It's mine." I can tell by her tone that no amount of reasoning  with her is going to change her mind.

I punch the bridge of my nose. "Let me get this straight. You want me to buy you a bunch of orchids. But then instead of handing them to you like a normal person, you want me to leave them anonymously on your desk and then pretend they weren't from me?" I look at her doubtfully.

Jisoo clasps her hands together and lets out an excited squeal. "It's going to be perfect!"

"It's going to be dramatic," I say with a laugh.

She gives me a mischievous smile. "Same thing."

Jisoo walks up to my front porch and places the white rose on a pile of roses in front of my door. Has she been coming here every day since I left, bringing me a rose? The realization hits me hard and it feels like my heart is going to tear straight out of my chest. I had been so concerned with surviving at the Academy that I hadn't truly thought about the impact my absence would have on her.

Jisoo kneels down in my steps and says a few words that I can't decipher before she gets up again. But even from here I can tell that her eyes are red, and she wipes at them with back of her mittens. And I wipe at mine. More than anything I want to make the grief on her face disappear. As she walks toward her car, I have a desperate desire o call out to her. And as she closed her car door, I feel like I've lost something precious. She turns on her engine and backs up, her silver car jostling on the dips in the dirt driveway. Just like that, Jisoo kills out into the road and disappears behind the tall trees.

I press my fingers into my eyebrows. I take a few deep breaths before I even dare look at Sehun because I know I will crumble.

"Would you like a minute alone?" Sehun asks, and there is concern in his eyes, but something else is there, too-a question I can't quite make out.

"No," I whisper, and break eye contact with him. "Let's just go." I motion for him to follow me, focusing all my energy in the task at hand.

I take off my wig and shove it in my bag, pulling my coat hood up in its place. Then I zigzag us around the back of my house along a sheltered path that provides maximum coverage. I put out my hand to tell Sehun to step about five feet from the cleated grass of my backyard. We both stand perfectly still and listen, scanning the forest for any sighs of other Strategia.

When I'm reasonably certain that there is no immediate threat, I look at Sehun and nod.

"Let's make a run for it," Sehun says, his breath warm in my ear, and we do.

We spring full-speed across the grass. I take the steps to my back porch two at a time, an action so familiar that despite the potential danger, a smile appears on my face. I pull my keys out of my coat pocket and without even looking at them I find the right one. I slip it into my back door, turn it, and jiggle the handle so that it doesn't stick. In five seconds flat were inside my living room, Sehun silently closing the door behind us.

I stop dead in my tracks, scouring my living room to be sure that no unknown threats await us. Sehun moves to the bathroom, then to appa's bedroom, and I do the same with the kitchen and my bedroom. After we've opened doors and checked in closets and under the beds, certain that there isn't a Strategia lurking there, we meet silently back in the living room, my shoulders dropping an inch.

Everything is exactly as I left it the night I departed for Absconditi (Hidden) Academy. Appa must have driven me to the airport and never returned. The couch still has the red plaid black strewn across it, and the bowl with popcorn remnants hasn't been cleaned. The living room smells faintly like fireplace, as it always does, and app's snow boots stand on a plastic mat near the front door. For a split second I can almost believe that the Academy wasn't real, that my uncle Jin is till alive, and that appa is still on his way home from work. The hope is so intense that I close my eyes for a second, trying to hold the moment a little longer.

"What weapons do you have here?" Sehun asks, and the reality of our situation shatters my train of thought.

"Right. Uh, let's see," I say, reluctantly turning away from the living room. "I have a knife collection in my room."

Sehun nods. "Knives work and they're easy to conceal. Let's see them."

I lead him into my bedroom, and as he walks through the door, he pauses to take it in. My bed frame is made from twisty pieces of polished wood that are woven together in an arch, something appa made for me for my thirteenth birthday. My ceiling is painted blue and speckled with clouds. There are stuffed animals on my dresser, tons of picture collages on my walls, and a pile of messy clothes on my desk chair from deciding what to pack to go to the Academy.

Little did I know that there would be a uniform and that I would have no access to my luggage. But appa didn't tell me any of that. He didn't tell me a lot of things-like that my uncle Jin wasn't in danger, he was dead. In fact, the only thing he said that was true was that we needed to leave our house. I know I shouldn't blame him, that he was only trying to keep me safe, and that if he had told me the truth I never would have gone to the Academy. But in my less mature moments I get angry that he didn't take me with him. Since I was six, we've relied on each other, have done everything together, and now he's somewhere in Gyeonggi without me.

I sigh, shaking the thought from my head. I pull open my dresser drawer, run my finger along the edge until I find the familiar groove, and tilt up the flase bottom. I grab my favorite boot dagger, which appa gave me when I was ten, and my Browning Black Label, which I hoot to my belt loop under my sweater.

I squeal so loudly that appa leans back on the couch to protect his hearing. "You're kidding me! This is so so cool!" I exclaim.

"It's -" he starts.

"A boot dagger. I know," I say, thrilled that I can identify the small knife.

Appa smiles. "Well, yes, it's a boot dagger. But it's not like your other knives. This is one different."

I turn the knife around in my hand, examining it. It doesn't look particularly different from my others. it's double-edged and the handle appears to be carved from bone instead of wood, but neither of those things is unusual. I look up at appa.

"It's different because a boot dagger is a concealed weapon," appa says.

"Seriously? That's the most obvious -" I start, but he hold up his hand, like he was anticipating my objection.

"And a concealed weapon should bear the element of surprise," he continues. "That may sounds obvious, but it won't once you realize that the surprise of a boot dagger shouldn't rely solely on its concealment."

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"Let's say you're in a fight and someone pulls a dagger out of their boot. Surprise! Now, what effect would that have on you?" he asks.

"Do I have a knife?" I ask.

"Maybe," he says.

"Appa, how am I supposed to answer a maybe?" I ask.

"That's exactly my point," he replies with a subtle smile. "The possibilities that an opponent will have a knife will always be a maybe. So let's take the possibilities one at a time. Say you don't have a knife, what would you do?"

"Find something to use as a shield, and if there's nothing available, I'd look for something long that I could use as a weapon to keep the knife away from my body. But if both of those fail, then I would use the disarming techniques you showed me," I say, repeating our recent lesson.

"Right," appa says. "And what if you did have a knife?"

"Then I would just fight," I say.

"So how has the surprise of your opponent's concealed weapon affected you in each of these scenarios?" he continues.

I pause to give it some thought. "Well, I guess I would be surprised if I didn't have a knife, but I would also know what to do. And if I did have a knife . . . I don't know. I might be momentarily surprised, but it wouldn't be a big deal."

"Then what is the point of hiding a dagger in your boot if you barely surprise your opponent? Why not just put it on your belt, where it's easier to access?" he asks, slightly elongating his words the way he always does when he's closing in on his point.

"Because it's awesome," I say with a smile, and appa smiles.

"Awesomeness aside, think about it, Soo. How can you be certain that you will surprise your opponent with a boot dagger?" he asks.

I consider his question and redirect my focus to the window that looks out on our back porch and the forest beyond. "Hmm. To surprise someone with a boot dagger . . .," I say, repeating the question like people on talk shows always do when they're not sure what to say, "I suppose I would . . . do something surprising once I pulled it out?"

"Agreed," he says. "But what?"

I inspect the small knife, turning it over in my palm. "I could do one of my tricks," I say.

"Possible," he says. "But you would have to be sure it was the right moment; you know that with knives the smallest mistake can mean forfeiting your weapon."

"So what's the answer?" I ask, now genuinely curious.

"Don't think like a knife expert," he says.

This time I don't attempt to object because I know he's not finished.

"People who are trained to use knives have expectations for themselves and others. Defy these expectations and you can win," he continues with emphasis. "Most people mistakenly use weapons as though there are invisible boundaries or rules dictating conduct. You don't. You integrate moves you've learned in soccer and secret handshakes you made up with Jisoo-this way of thinking is the key. Just because there isn't a clear shot doesn't mean you can't win. There is always a work-around and a way to surprise your opponent. It just takes creativity and a lack of self-imposed boundaries.

"Take what you need," I say to Sehun, but when I look up from my knife drawer, he isn't standing next to me. "Sehun?"

I turn around to find him examining my room, which I'm certain tells him all kinds of personal things about me. His expression is curious, like my things surprise him in some way he wasn't expecting. I follow his eyes toward my picture collages and to my bookshelf, which is covered with knickknacks, my book collection on plants and trees, and eomma's old CDs and movies, most of which are scuffed and imperfect from the countless number of times Jisoo and I played them. And as I look over my belongings, I realize that a month ago I would have called these things unremarkable, brushed them off as normal or griped about wanting a new iPod. But in this moment, they seem invaluable-a catalogue of my childhood imbued with more memories than I can put into words. And I wonder: Will I ever see these things again? Will I ever sit in my bed, which appa built, listening to music with Jisoo and talking about our plans for the weekend?

"Okay, now, let's see," Sehun says. He joins me at the dresser and turns his attention to the knives, nodding approvingly. "Not bad," he says.

"You mean awesome," I say, looking back at the drawer and the knife collection I've always been proud of.

He smirks. "Well, not as quite as good as mine," he says. "But only because you're missing some collector's pieces."

I lift an eyebrow. "Are you trying to make me jealous? Because it's working."

"Or trying to convince you to come and visit my house in Gimje when this is all over," he says with a sly smile.

I look at him sideways. "You think your parents would be okay with that?"

"With you? The disowned firstborn of the Tiger and Eagle Families that everyone's hunting . . . what could they possibly object to?" But I can hear in his voice that even though he's making light of it, this mess with my family is a big deal. At present, there is nowhere I belong in the Strategia world.

"We need to avoid the windows," he says, shifting our conversation. "And don't turn on any lights. Let's get searching done before the sun sets."

"Definitely," I say, aware of the time restrictions. I drop the false bottom back into place and close my drawer.

"What can you tell me that will help me search?" he asks, and I scan my room, trying to figure out how to explain to his what could qualify as unusual in my house.

"The way you were just looking at my room . . .," I start. "It seems haphazard and messy to you, doesn't it?"

"It seems lived-in," Sehun says, and there is something in his voice that almost sounds like longing.

"But I'm willing to bet it's also not the typical bedroom for a Strategia. You keep your space sparse and meticulous, right?" I ask.

"I do. But how do you know that?"

"Because my dad does the same thing. His room is like walking into a stage set. And after seeing how everyone behaved at the Academy-so structured, so exact-it makes sense. So why don't you start in my dad's bedroom? You'll probably understand it better than any other room in the house. Look for anything that might be a message to me. Appa always had a thing for making me search out my birthday presents. So whatever the message is, it's probably a puzzle."

Sehun nods and leaves me to my bedroom. For a second I just stand there, nostalgic for my once-normal life. I move to the silver jewelry box on my dresser, which was eomma's, and pull out her gold ring that looks like knobby bark with delicate leaves. I slip on my pointer finger and sigh. There is no time for me to go through my special things one by one the way I want to. There is just no time, period.

I begin to pace, focusing on the task at hand and trying to remember everything that happened from the time Appa told me about the school until the moment we walked out the door with my duffel bag. My thoughts immediately go to the popcorn bowl and I move quickly into the living room. He left everything exactly as it was. No one but me would know if something changed . . . no one but me. I scan the room.

Next to the bowl is the open magazine I was reading, exactly where I plopped it down when appa said we needed to talk. The blanket is draped haphazardly where I tossed it before packing. The matches he used to light the fire lie open on the mantel. The area rug is in its place. The furniture is the same. There is just as much wood stacked near the fireplace as there was when we left.

I spend the next few hours meticulously scrutinizing every detail of my living room, dining room, kitchen, mudroom, and bathroom. But for the life of me I can't find one thing so much as an inch out of place. If someone did search my house, then I'm impressed, because I would never be able to tell.

"Suzy?" Sehun says, and I turn to find him standing in appa's bedroom door. "I found something."

For a second, I'm confused. "Really?"

"Did you think I wouldn't?" he says, and I follow him into appa's bedroom.

"Truthfully, no," I admit. "I never spent much time in appa's room. My dad didn't spend much time in here, either-not since eomma died, anyway."

Sehun stands near appa's neatly made bed and gestures to the folded blanket. "Check the second navy square on the bottom left."

I move around the bed and run my fingers over the squares he indicated. The seams are straight and nothing is amiss. I put my hands under the blanket and inspect the other side. Everything feels perfectly as it should be. I give Sehun a questioning look.

He directs my hand to the corner where the stitching is almsot imperceptinly thicker. He uses my fingers to picnh the seam, and sure enough there's something in there. I pick at it until the threads separate, then use my nails to pull out a tiny piece of tightly rolled paper.

On the inside is written:

𝑀𝑒𝑒𝓉 𝓂𝑒 𝓊𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒸𝒾𝓉𝓎.

I stare up at Sehun, confused, trying to figure out why in the heck appa would leave me a message in a place I would never find it. "This doesn't . . ."

"This doesn't what?" Sehun asks, reading my expression.

"Honestly? I want to be excited that you found something, but if this wasn't written in appa's handwriting, I wouldn't believe it was from him."

Sehun's eyebrows push together. "Are you positive it's his handwriting? Because the seams was repaired where the note was and it looks like it wasn't the first time. If you ask me, another Strategia already found it."

"I'm positive," I say, and I stare at it like it's going to sprout teeth. A Strategia was in my house. My stomach does a quick flip and I'm suddenly immensely grateful Sehun stopped me from running up to Jisoo. If someone was watching, I could have gotten us all killed.

I hold the note up to the light, but the paper is thick, with no watermarks and no indentations from previous writing. "The thing is, it's not like Appa's usual clues. I don't have any idea what this means. We mostly never leave Jeongsan, much less the province, and we certainly never went underground anywhere."

Sehun looks at me like I just said something odd. "And he never talked to you about a city that had underground meeting spots?"

I shake my head and stare back at him, trying to decipher his expression. "You know what this means, don't you?" I say, and I don't need to wait for his answer because I recognize the confirmation in his eyes. "Why do you know what this note means and I don't? That doesn't make sense."

"It does if this note wasn't intended for you, then it was confidence. "And if it wasn't intended for you, then it was meant for the Strategia who searched this place." He rolls it up and puts it back where it was.

I chew on my thumbnail as I try to sort out his logic. "I know I'm the only one saying this note doesn't make sense, but how can you be so sure? Scratch that. I need you to be without-a-doubt positive, because it would be a complete and total mess if we disregarded a message we shouldn't have."

Sehun nods, like he understands my objection perfectly. "There are series of underground crypts, catacombs, and streets all over Korea that Strategia use to meet. But your father wrote the city, and given the fact that he's a Tiger, that mostly likely indicates Incheon. And in Incheon there's an underground pub that's used by all the Families-a popular spot for trading information and meetings. You don't know that, but any other Strategia would know what it meant instantly."

I consider his explanation. "Okay, I see your point: Why would he bother leaving me a note that everyone but me would understand?"

"Exactly," Sehun says.

I exhale. "Even though it's not for me, I'm relieved you found it. If appa left a decoy note, then there's definitely a real one. And if you're correct that someone has already searched my house, then we need to find it fast."

"Agreed," Sehun says. "Have you found anything?" He glances at appa's bedroom window and he doesn't need to say what he's thinking. This late December, the light's already dimming.

My stomach knots up as our opportunity to search fades with the sun. And I'm not willing to risk another day here, not with appa in who knows what kind of danger in Gyeonggi and with a potential Strategia lingering around my property.

I shake my head. "No clues yet."

"Let's think about this," Sehun says. "If the note was a decoy, then whatever he left you has to be drastically different in order to avoid the possibility of another Strategia finding it."

I nod. "Right. And if it's drastically different, then it's probably not going to be a hidden object-a hidden object could be found by anyone with the proper searching skills. So maybe . . ." I stop and chew on my lip as I think. "Maybe it's something that's hidden in plain view."

"Potentially something symbolic?" Sehun offers.

I walk back into the living room, turning in a full circle and reexamining the room. "And if the message is in plain view, then it has to be something I would know how to decipher but that wouldn't mean anything to anyone else . . ." My voice trails off as the realization dawns on me. I run to my room with Sehun at my heels.

I immediately scour my pictures collages.

"What are you thinking?" Sehun asks. "Can I help in any way?"

"What I'm thinking is that Appa always said I logged our entire lives in these collages," I reply. "I've been making them since I was eight. I used to spend weeks on them, picking a theme, cutting out the pictures so they fit together exactly the way I wanted them to. I'd take over the whole living room floor with photos from our trips and school dances. Appa used to come along and move a couple of the pictures on me as a joke and I would get super annoyed," I say, scanning every inch of the collages.

Sehun stands next to me, noting the details of the pictures with interest. "I always assumed you were missing something because you weren't raised like a typical Strategia, but now I'm thinking it'd the exact opposite. It's me and Sejeong who lost out."

I hear the personal admission in his words, but I'm too focused and we're under too much pressure to give that opening the attention it deserves.

"This!" I practically jump in the air as I poke my finger at a collage from when I was thirteen. "He switched these two pictures. I can't believe I didn't think to look here before."

"What do they mean?" Sehun asks.

"Good question," I say, and trade my enthusiasm for concentration. "Let me think this one out for a second." I point to one of the changed pictures. "So this is from the camping trip we went on with Uncle Jin as my middle school graduation present. And this one is Jisoo and me laughing over the ridiculous things we were thinking of putting in our seventh-grade time capsule."

"What's the -"

"Hold on," I say, not to be rude, but because I feel like the message is at the edge of my thoughts. I just need a moment to pluck it out. "Time capsules preserve memories, personal items that have meanings within specific time frames. And this trip was a celebration. We made our own tent. Appa taught me his favorite sword trick . . . Oh my, Uncle Jin taught me how to camouflage my camping gear so that it blended with the woods." I look at Sehun, the memories flooding back. "I thought it was the coolest thing at the time. And when I came home, I decided to make a time capsule of my own, a smaller version of these picture collages, in order to commemorate my year. I talked about ti for a month." My voice is faster and more animated. "But I didn't want to bury it like the time capsule at school where it would eventually decay. Instead, I decided to use what Uncle Jin taught me about camouflage. Appa helped me pick out the tree to hide it in."

"And this tree is on your property?" he asks, and I can see the relief in his eyes that we're making progress.

"About a five-minute walk into the woods from the edge of my backyard," I sya, and grab my coat off my bed.

"Wait," Sehun says.

"Wait for what?" I say. "We need to go find out what's in that tree. Because if I'm wrong, then we need to start looking elsewhere."

"Agreed. But not this moment. Look out your window. We're about to lose the light -" Sehun starts.

"I can get to the tree before we go, though," I counter.

"Of course you can if you waltz right out there. But what if there's a Tiger in those woods waiting for you emerge in order to attack you? Or maybe waiting for you find the message from your dad and then attack you?" he says. "Do you really want to fight a well-trained assassin in the woods with no light?"

I want to argue with him. I need to know what app'a message says. But fighting a Strategia sounds awful under any circumstances, much less in the dark. "When are you suggesting we go out there?"

"Just moments before sunrise. We can move across the yard in the dark, and if we're lucky no on will be there. But if we're not and we need to fight, the coming sunrise will at least allow us to see."

I exhale audibly and drop my coat back on my bed. I hate that he's right about this, and as much as I don't want to, I agree-getting that message and finding appa are more important than rushing. "Fine. I concede. But then we leave with no delay."

"Then we leave," Sehun replies, and I wonder how I'll ever make it through the night knowing that there might be something from appa waiting for me in the woods.