It came while she was pretending not to think.
Ha-rin was sitting on the sofa, flipping through channels without actually watching anything. The remote clicked every few seconds, stopping just long enough for a face to appear before moving on again.
Nothing held.
Her phone vibrated.
Once.
She froze.
Didn't pick it up.
I noticed because the clicking stopped.
"…You don't have to answer immediately," I said.
"I know," she replied.
She still didn't move.
The phone vibrated again.
She exhaled slowly, then turned it face up on the table.
The screen lit the room faintly.
Agency group chat.
Muted—until now.
"…They don't usually message this early," she said.
"What time is it," I asked.
"8:03."
"That is early."
"Yes."
She stared at the screen like it might bite.
"…They probably just want to check in," she added, too quickly. "Because of the hiatus."
"That is likely," I replied. "And incomplete."
She glanced at me.
"…You always add that second part."
"Because it is usually accurate."
She picked up the phone and scrolled.
Didn't open the message.
Just read the preview.
"…They're asking if I'm feeling better," she said. "…And if I can come by next week."
"That is a request," I replied. "Not a demand."
"…Yet."
"Yes."
She leaned back against the sofa, phone still in hand.
"…I knew this would start again," she said quietly. "I just hoped it wouldn't be so soon."
"You were hoping for delay," I replied. "Not avoidance."
"…Is that bad."
"No," I said. "It is human."
She nodded, then laughed softly.
"…You really don't sugarcoat things."
"That would reduce clarity."
She stared at the ceiling.
"…What if I go there and freeze."
"That is possible."
"…What if they notice something."
"That is also possible."
"…You're not helping."
"I am outlining scenarios," I replied. "So we can prepare."
She turned her head toward me.
"…You're already preparing."
"Yes."
"…Even before they asked."
"Yes."
Her expression softened, just a little.
"…Do you think they know."
"No," I replied. "But they are suspicious."
"…That's worse."
"Suspicion increases observation," I said. "Which increases risk."
She groaned and covered her face with the cushion.
"…I hate that you're right."
"That is understandable."
She lowered the cushion slowly.
"…So what do we do."
"We respond," I said. "Carefully."
"…How carefully."
"Enough to buy time."
She considered that.
"…I can say I'm still recovering," she said. "Stress. Exhaustion."
"That is consistent with previous statements."
"…And not a lie."
"Correct."
She rolled onto her side, hugging the cushion.
"…You make everything sound like strategy."
"It is," I replied. "But not war."
She smiled faintly.
"…That's supposed to make me feel better."
"It should."
Her phone buzzed again.
This time, she opened the message.
Read it fully.
Didn't respond.
"…They want a meeting," she said. "Not today. But soon."
"When."
"…They didn't say."
"That is intentional."
She sighed.
"…I don't want to go alone."
"You will not," I said.
She turned to look at me.
"…You can't come."
"I can wait," I replied. "Nearby."
"…That still counts."
"Yes."
She nodded slowly.
"…Okay."
She typed a response.
Paused.
Deleted it.
Typed again.
"…Does this sound normal," she asked, holding the phone toward me.
I read it.
"It does," I said. "It maintains distance without refusal."
"…You're sure."
"Yes."
She sent it.
The phone went quiet.
For now.
She set it down and leaned back, eyes closed.
"…I feel like I just stepped onto something unstable," she said.
"You did," I replied. "But it is not collapsing."
"…Yet."
"Yes."
She opened her eyes and looked at me.
"…When this gets harder," she said quietly, "…you won't disappear, right."
"That is not an option," I replied.
"…You say that so easily."
"Because it is simple," I said. "I stay."
She let out a breath she'd been holding.
"…Okay."
Outside, the city continued as usual.
Inside, the countdown had started.