For three whole days she writhed with a vicious flu, yet the thought that she might starve to death drove her to crawl across the floor and tear open the emergency rations. She had no memory of it, but judging by the crushed empty water bottles rolling around, she must have gulped down plenty of water too.

Seoryeong stripped off her soaked clothes and slipped from the blanket utterly naked. Her pale hips, curved like an apple, shifted one after the other as she moved.

She was no longer a fugitive, and her body no longer hindered her. Now she could go anywhere.

But where should she go....

After a hot shower, she crammed what she needed into a backpack, pulled on a hat, and stepped outside.

Having barely recovered from three days of illness, she stumbled unexpectedly into the old town where people were mourning Yuri Solzhenitsyn.

Each time she tried to avert her eyes, the slogans on the placards stabbed at her vision.

“Peace and rest for the boy.”

“May he sleep well.”

“Goodnight again today, until the day we meet once more.”

Damn it.... She bit her lower lip at the disaster she had walked into. Along the streets, where twilight was beginning to fall, rows of candles glowed and clouds of white baby’s breath stretched endlessly. Before the photograph of a boy once admired by all during Solzhenitsyn’s reign, people prayed in pity and solemnity. But she hated the sound of strangers weeping. The air pressed on her chest, and in panic she shoved through the crowd, only to be trapped deeper in the procession.

Gasping and clutching her throat, she stumbled, then savagely ripped Yuri Solzhenitsyn’s photograph down.

What kind of madness is this... Don’t you dare hang my man’s picture in a place like this. Don’t you dare speak of death. Don’t you dare pray. Don’t you dare say he’s dead...!

She tore down every photo she saw plastered on walls until she found herself at the end of an alley.

Crushing the pictures in her fists until the veins rose, she panted like a criminal. His wife hasn’t acknowledged it yet...! I haven’t acknowledged anything yet! As she fumed, a stem of baby’s breath was suddenly held out before her. An elderly priest offered her the flower.

“Sister, please pray for his soul.”

“......”

Silent tears fell. With her face hardened, Seoryeong snatched the white flower irritably. Its meaning was death and grief. Her stiff fingers clenched so hard the petals crumpled.

She stared blankly at the baroque Orthodox cathedral, then glared at the old priest. In her grip, petals crushed one by one.

“Lay everything down and pray warmly for the one who now enjoys eternal life at the Lord’s side—”

“Am I insane? Who would that be for?”

She did not hide her reddened eyes.

“Who are you telling me he should be with, forever?”

“My dear sister....”

“No. Don’t force it. Don’t speak such unlucky, ominous words.”

She brushed coldly past the priest, then whirled back, eyes flashing. She pointed to one of the photos stuck on a wall and ground out her words.

“That man is not going to the Lord’s side.”

Her quiet fire came out in deliberate, chewed syllables.

“He can’t. I’ll never allow it.”

She had abducted a deputy director of the NIS, she had meddled with Chinese fishing vessels—why should she balk at a being called God? If it meant seeing Wooshin again, she could commit sins higher and deeper still. At that, the priest’s wrinkled eyes clouded sadly. He offered her another sprig of baby’s breath from his basket.

“Faith is not simply deciding what you want.”

“......!”

“Faith is not shoving forward like a bulldozer at what you cannot see, sister. Don’t lean on feelings without evidence. That is nothing but vile blind devotion.”

His calm voice held worried concern, but Seoryeong felt as though stabbed by a blade. She forced her stiff lips to move.

“A priest I met in Korea said there’s no need for a reason to believe in something.”

“That is too one-sided.”

“......”

“Think logically. How can you believe in something with no substance and no proof?”

“Are you disparaging your own profession, Father?”

“No.”

He let out a hearty laugh.

“Simple emotion cannot be faith. Repeat it as you like, it becomes self-hypnosis at best, cultish delusion at worst.”

At those words, her birth father’s rambling voice flashed like an ambush.

‘Still, the only thing I could do was keep believing I’d saved her.... Even if it was false, I had to believe I was protecting her, guarding her.... Because if I didn’t believe, I couldn’t endure.’

Suddenly her vision went black.

Maybe I too will weaken like him, go mad in the end. Maybe I’ll collapse to the point that I can only survive by believing lies. No... Haven’t I already?

No. I’m different. I’m different...! How could Wooshin be dead? Just when I’ve finally been able to accept him, why would he be struck down like this?

She swallowed back the black tide of doubt like soup from the night before. But the priest’s lecturing words kept stoking her anger.

It felt like he was denying the very faith that barely kept her standing, and her breath grew ragged beyond control. She tore at the baby’s breath between her teeth.

“――!”

The bitter taste of crushed blossoms mingled with their scent on her tongue. Wooshin was alive. That was an unchanging fact, the one belief that must not falter. After three feverish days, she had dragged herself out only to be called blind and foolish. Her insides turned upside ⊛ Nоvеlιght ⊛ (Read the full story) down. If her love was warped, then she would live warped all her life.

“Since Yuri Solzhenitsyn’s body hasn’t been found, that means he isn’t dead yet.”

“No one has returned alive from beneath that gorge since the fall of the Soviet Union.”

“......”

“And they say the Solzhenitsyn car crushed under the train was found in the river this morning.”

The priest sighed, heavy and sorrowful, crossing himself. Seoryeong could say nothing. She wanted to slap her own face for being unable to say anything.

“Sister, faith has its traps. Don’t toss it off by saying you’ll believe in him. That’s no different than draping thin paper over a blade—cheap illusion. That way you’ll never find peace.”

Seoryeong lifted her bloodshot eyes. The corner of her mouth twitched, somewhere between a sneer and a grimace.

“So where is the God you believe in right now, Father?”

“I search for Him every day. Tirelessly, I chase His traces.”

He answered without hesitation, but she scoffed as if she’d expected it.

Were all who followed what had no substance truly useless, foolish?

Then in his eyes too, did I look stubborn, surly?

An unnameable sense of defeat seeped into her, her mind sinking down, down, as if into water. Yet the priest brushed petals from her shoulder without a hint of offense.

“There are sixty-six books in the Bible. That is where I seek grounding. But how many books must you open to know and love one person deeply? Sister, where are you headed, and what do you intend to learn?”

“......!”

“You must read even the history and the metaphors of another before blind devotion becomes true devotion.”

Leaving her a blessing of luck, the priest turned and walked away. Seoryeong stood rigid, watching the people lighting candles. Her head rang hollow, as if struck from behind.

I don’t know him... not that much....

She did not know Lee Wooshin completely.

The chill of deprivation seeped in like a cold draft. She could go nowhere, only swept aimlessly among the crowd.

Just then, the old phone she had brought from the safe house buzzed shrilly. She fumbled in her pocket and pulled it out.

“――!”

A child came running, collided with her motionless body, and spilled a drink.

Even as the voice over the receiver cried desperately, “It really, really is you, sister Ganna—!” she had no time to reply.

The child, only up to her waist, looked panicked, on the verge of tears.

“I’m sorryyy...!”

Squinting through wet eyes, the child dabbed at her soaked wrist, apologizing over and over. Against her skin, a bracelet rattled against his small hand.

Seoryeong froze as if struck by a hammer. The pattern of the bracelet leapt to her eyes with brutal familiarity.

Why... did I forget this?

Her pupils shook violently. A simple bracelet strung with polished translucent stones, carved with a plain motif.

Ligai’s last keepsake, carried from Azerbaijan.

No. That wasn’t all.

I’ve seen this... somewhere before.

Where the hell did I...?

Staring at the child’s pale face, she jolted wide-eyed. A lightning memory split through her skull.

“Channa—when we went on assignment to Thailand with Blast Corporation...!”

—...Hello? Sister Ganna, are you listening?

“Do you remember a child selling bracelets on the street?”

—What? Why bring that up so suddenly...?

Seoryeong drew a deep breath, her chest swelling. The row of candles lit up the darkness in her mind. Gooseflesh crawled over her nape.

“Do you remember the pattern?”

Her voice trembled with urgency. If there was still an unfinished story left to him.

If there was still some tale of Ligai and the Solzhenitsyns I did not know.

‘Prime Minister, I’m sorry.... Madam, I’m sorry.... I’m sorry I couldn’t save you....’

Then at last... she felt she had found her destination.