“You’ll just stay here with me from now on.”

“Come with me. Let’s get out of this fucked-up world.”

That cold voice overlapped with Kiya’s for a moment—and strangely, the surge of fury building behind Seoryeong’s eyes seemed to dissolve. Huu... She took a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down.

Panic only brought more panic. If the Special Security Team she knew—and if Lee Wooshin—were still alive, they would come. Without fail. They weren’t the type to be wiped out so easily.

Then, she had to be ready. Seoryeong began outlining a basic survival plan. Rather than wasting energy in rage, it was better to conserve her strength. Better yet, she had to wrest control of the situation.

If, when the others arrived, she couldn’t even stand—that would be the real humiliation. Then this confinement wasn’t a crisis. It was a chance.

“......”

Seoryeong’s eyes glinted—after days of being driven to the brink. Abducting the deputy director in the Grand Hotel parking garage, confronting the fake Kim Hyeon, the sex with Lee Wooshin—all of it had left her no time to rest before arriving in Sakhalin.

Mmh... First, I need sleep.

The decision came quickly. Letting go of the tension that had kept her body taut, she collapsed onto the bed without a word. Kiya looked momentarily flustered by her sudden surrender.

She exhaled, unclenching her breath, and shut her eyes. Only then did she feel the mattress supporting her.

“Do you have any ramen?”

“...What?”

“You said you had a lot to tell me. Got any snacks to go with the story?”

“...Snacks?”

“Then a sleep mask?”

“......”

“Netflix?”

“......”

“Any books, at least?”

She opened her eyes and stared silently. A wordless rebuke.

“This isn’t even a proper hostage setup. No basics at all.”

“...Ah.”

With a sigh, she murmured the words like a bored critique. Kiya only blinked in place.

“Go cook something, Priest.”

His pupils wobbled with confusion.

Slurp, slurp— Seoryeong sucked down thick noodles, treating the clunky chain on her wrist like an oversized sleeve. She blew on the steaming broth before sipping.

Then glanced up at Kiya, who stood off to the side with a peculiar expression.

“The noodles are overcooked.”

Kiya flinched, awkwardly folding his arms.

“You’re so good at doing horrible things, but you’ve barely eaten any instant food, huh? Broth’s bland, no kimchi to go with it. Next time, maybe... make the place a little more considerate. For this ‘Sonia’ person you keep talking about.”

“......”

“I think presentation really matters with things like this.”

Lifting a full mouthful of noodles, she shrugged. Then, one by one, Seoryeong began commenting on every detail of the room—the cuffs on her wrist, the square footage, the light bulbs, wallpaper, floor, heat, even the portable toilet.

This scratches the skin. Too cramped. Too dark. Cold. Unsanitary.

She spoke like a finicky customer leaving a pointed review.

Kiya’s eyes narrowed as he approached and sat on the edge of the bed, across from her.

“I... feel like I can’t talk to you.”

Clearly frustrated, he gripped the chain tight.

“Sonia. Listen carefully. You have a memory issue. Specifically, you’ve lost everything before age ten. Your real name isn’t Han Seoryeong—it’s Sonia.”

“...!”

“You’re from Sakhalin. You were raised here in this monastery with your other siblings.”

“What the hell are you talking about—”

“Just listen!”

His face turned blank as he suddenly shouted.

“If you don’t accept this, you’ll never understand...! Not the NIS, not that bastard Kim Hyeon, not why they did what they did to you—none of it—!”

“...!”

Seoryeong’s breath caught at the sound of her husband’s name.

“We were trained in circus acts—beaten daily since we were kids. The cult leader sold us off for money, sending us out like tribute—Koryo kids handed off to Russia.”

“......”

“Do you remember the phrases we were forced to memorize while getting beaten every day?”

Kiya’s dulled eyes suddenly creased. Every word was unfamiliar. Completely foreign.

Memories before ten...? For someone raised in an orphanage, “childhood memories” didn’t go very far. But trying to trace the time before the orphanage—those hazy, unreachable years—something snagged in her mind.

Why... why can’t I...

It was like hitting a transparent wall. Not sleep, not fatigue—just a strange mental dissociation, as though her mind were slipping away again.

Disturbed, she pinched her cheek hard. Kiya took her hands gently, like a prayer, and closed his eyes.

“He made all, both small and great, rich and poor, free and bond, to receive a mark on their right hand or on their foreheads. And no one could buy or sell unless he had the mark...”

— Revelation 13:14

She didn’t understand a word of it. But his expression—his emotion—was unmistakable.

“I can’t forget, goddammit.”

“......”

“My head’s the only one that still remembers, Sonia. Mine. That’s why I’ve never once let go.”

“......”

“I didn’t want to see you sold to the pigs. I killed someone—for the first time—just to protect you. They said I was the fastest of all the brothers. When I was next to you, my hands looked clean. I finally understood the scripture we were forced to chant back then. I thought I knew what God meant.”

His eyes, locked onto hers, were deep and raw.

“But then one day, I woke up—and you were gone. I never believed you were dead. Not once.”

“...!”

“So I started looking. Three years... through countries I didn’t even know the names of. All the way back to Sakhalin.”

He lowered his head, pressing it to the back of her hand. It looked like exhaustion. Or maybe a spoiled child begging for comfort.

“So please... stay with me now.”

But his hand was cold. There was no warmth in his grip.

This priest, fumbling to hold onto an illusion, somehow reminded her of herself. But it still felt like staring through glass at something on display. Her voice was flat.

“I’m sorry, but those memories... they’re not mine.”

“...!”

“I’m not looking for childhood memories.”

This had to end here. She couldn’t allow her team to get hurt over something like this. With that resolve, she said it clearly—and Kiya’s face twisted with anger.

“This is your past...! It’s about finding who you really are, Sonia!”

“And what would I do with that?”

“...!”

“I’m twenty-eight years old. Hearing this stuff now doesn’t mean anything. What does it change, what I did when I was ten? Where I was born? It’s not going to make me someone else.”

“Sonia, aren’t you... even curious?”

Kiya bit his lip, looking genuinely wronged.

“Don’t you want to know why those NIS bastards made you marry him?!”

“I loved him.”

“...!”

Kiya froze, as if confronted by something he had never seen before. His eyes on her face turned cold, hard.

The pallor in his cheeks gave way to something else—cracking, unraveling. Was it laughter or tears? No one could tell. His sclera turned red.

“Then what about me—!”

Kiya knocked over the half-eaten ramen cup like it betrayed him. His expression was bleak, devastated. The floor instantly soaked in broth. He trembled, breathing raggedly.

“I held on this whole time—for you! And now you—of all people—you want to bury my Sonia?!”

His distorted face was wet with unshed tears.

“Don’t kid yourself...! It wasn’t love. Everything started with your father. It’s all because of him!”

The air froze.

Seoryeong didn’t blink. Kiya, desperate now, tried to read her face.

A twisted expectation clung to him.

It felt like time itself had stopped—until she tilted her head slightly. Her expression was empty. Emotionless. And yet, it shattered the silence.

“So, you’re saying it’s my fault. That the NIS came after me because of me. That Kim Hyeon left because I gave him a reason to. All because °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° of this so-called father...”

She let out a short, dry laugh. Father. Father. She muttered the word a few times like she was trying to get it to roll off her tongue—then smirked again.

Doesn’t sit right in my mouth. She rubbed her neck and continued, as if flipping through someone else’s book without interest.

“So that’s it? That’s your big speech to convince me to stay locked in a cell with you?”

“I know everything. I know Kim Hyeon. That’s why—”

“...!”

Her eyes flickered for a moment.

“He’s what you’re desperate about, right? So what—kill him and I’ll suddenly want to live here with you? You want to take care of his corpse yourself? I’ll help you. If that’s what it takes, I’ll—kgh!” 𝘧𝓇ℯℯ𝑤ℯ𝘣𝓃ℴ𝓋𝑒𝑙.𝑐𝘰𝑚

A pair of chopsticks stabbed toward his throat.

Her voice was like ice, sliding through her teeth.

“Don’t say the word ‘corpse’ so carelessly.”

“...!”

“And you’ve misunderstood something, Priest. If I’m going to be trapped in a room, I’ll be trapped with my husband. And if I’m going to kill him, I’ll do it with my own hands. So don’t you dare touch him.”

“......”

“If you really want me to live in this monastery, then there’d better be a room for Kim Hyeon next door.”

“You...!”

“At night, I’ll go to him. During the day, I’ll block out the sun and drain him dry—watch him age, rot. I’ll smell his decay, wear it into my clothes. Understand?”

Kiya’s face froze again. That look—like he was seeing something unnatural.

“Know your place in other people’s marriage problems.”