Hye-Rin was standing in the middle of the living room with her palm held out, a thin ribbon of fire dancing above her skin.
It bent when she tilted her wrist, stretched when she spread her fingers. The light reflected in her eyes, warm and bright, making her smile to herself as if she were looking at something beautiful rather than dangerous. She turned her hand slowly, watching how the flame looked from different angles.
"Do you think this is too much?" she asked, not looking at Jin-Woo. "Like… if I did this in public, would people freak out, or would they think it's cool?"
Jin-Woo didn't answer.
He was in the bedroom, kneeling in front of the open closet, folding clothes with deliberate care. Not many. Two shirts. An extra pair of pants. Socks rolled tight. Everything went into his briefcase, layered neatly, as if space mattered more than comfort.
"Huh?" she said, louder this time. "Jin-Woo?"
"I'm heading out," he replied.
He closed the briefcase and stood. His wallet went into his coat pocket. Phone, keys, the familiar weight of everyday necessities. Nothing else. No bags stacked by the door. No frantic preparation. Just enough to function.
Hye-Rin finally turned to look at him. "Out? Now?"
"It's late," she added, glancing at the window, where the city lights glowed softly against the dark.
"I got called in," he said without hesitation. "Something came up at work."
She made a face. "At this hour?"
"It happens."
She shrugged, already losing interest, her attention drifting back to the flame. She made it flare a little brighter, then pulled it closer to her face, admiring the way it warmed her skin without burning it.
"That sucks," she said absently. "Don't be too late."
He moved past her toward the door. The apartment felt smaller than it had earlier that day. The walls too close. The air too familiar.
At the threshold, he stopped.
"Hye-Rin," he said.
She hummed in response, still focused on the fire.
"I love you."
The words were steady. No hesitation. No expectation attached to them.
"Sure, sure," she said, smiling faintly. "Be careful."
He opened the door.
The hallway light flickered once as he stepped out. The door closed behind him with a soft click, final and unremarkable.
He didn't look back.
Outside, the air was cool but bearable. Normal. Cars moved along the street below, their headlights cutting clean paths through the dark. Somewhere nearby, someone laughed. Life continued, unaware of how fragile it was.
Jin-Woo walked to the station without rushing.
On the platform, only a handful of people waited. A man slumped on a bench with his head down, earbuds in. A woman scrolling through her phone, thumb moving on reflex more than interest. The train arrived with a tired screech of metal, doors sliding open to reveal nearly empty cars.
Jin-Woo took a seat by the window.
As the train pulled away, the city blurred into streaks of light. He watched reflections pass over the glass, his own face layered over the night beyond.
The apartment would be the first thing to fail.
Too many people. Too many eyes. No room to store supplies, no room to move without being noticed. And Hye-Rin, too unpredictable, too drawn to attention. Fire would make her visible in the new world.
Space mattered. Structure mattered. Control mattered.
He closed his eyes briefly.
He needed a place that had a lower population, that would result in fewer riots and existing infrastructure could be repurposed. Warehouses had thick walls that could endure the cold and schools had basements that could be used as bunkers. Factories would have alot of raw materials that could be raided and utalized. Farmland that could be claimed later for a steady supply of food and Water sources would be close enough to defend.
He knew exactly where the Ice Age would hit hardest.
And where it wouldn't.
The train rocked gently as it moved farther from the city center. Fewer lights now. More darkness between stops. The number of passengers dwindled until only three remained in his car.
He took out his phone and scrolled to a contact he hadn't touched in a long time.
The call connected after a few rings.
"Jin-Woo?" a familiar voice said, surprised. "Man, it's been a while."
"Yeah," Jin-Woo replied. "Hey. That place you mentioned before—your family's property. Is it still available?"
There was a pause. "Uh… yeah. Why?"
"I want to buy it."
Another pause, longer this time. "Seriously?"
"I'd like to see it tonight," Jin-Woo said. "I'll pay ten percent over asking if you can meet me."
The man on the other end laughed under his breath. "You gotta be pranking me, are you serious about this?"
"I am."
"…Alright," his friend said slowly. "Forget the extra. Since your a old time friend I'll come down. I'll text you the address."
"Thanks."
They hung up.
Jin-Woo stared at the darkened window as the train sped on.
In the first timeline, this friend had died in the cold. Not immediately. Not dramatically. Just another name on a list that grew too long to read.
The train slowed as it approached the next station, doors opening with a dull chime. No one got on. One person got off. Then it moved again, carrying him farther away from the life he was leaving behind.
He adjusted his grip on the briefcase.
Late evening bled quietly into night, and Jin-Woo rode forward, already committed, already certain.
He wasn't going back.
The train slowed as it approached the end of the line, its lights cutting through a darker, wider stretch of land. When the doors opened, the air that rushed in felt different, it was cleaner than the city's.
It felt good.
The town sat low and spread out, streetlights were fewer, spaced farther apart. Beyond them, shapes loomed, long, rectangular silhouettes that had to be warehouses. Old depots with rusted rails cutting off into weeds. Factories that hadn't breathed in years, their windows dark but intact.
A car waited near the station, engine idling. The driver stepped out as Jin-Woo approached, raising a hand in greeting.
"Jin-Woo!" he called, smiling with relief.
"Min-Seok," Jin-Woo said, returning the nod. "Thanks for coming."
Park Min-Seok looked older than Jin-Woo remembered. Not by much, just a little heavier around the eyes, a little more tired in the shoulders. They'd worked together years ago, back when overtime felt temporary and the future felt flexible. After that, they'd drifted apart. Life had a way of doing that.
"No problem," Min-Seok said, waving it off. "You sounded like it couldn't wait."
"It couldn't," Jin-Woo replied.
They drove through the town in easy silence. The roads were wide, built for trucks rather than traffic. Closed shops passed by, hardware stores, small offices, places that had once been busy and now simply… waited. Jin-Woo watched everything with a quiet, assessing eye.
This place would hold.
They turned onto a narrower road, gravel crunching beneath the tires. The house appeared at the end of it, set back from the street, lights off. Large. Squared. Plain in a way that suggested it had never tried to be anything else.
Min-Seok parked and killed the engine. "Here we are."
The house was colder inside than it looked from the outside. Not neglected, just empty.
"It was my uncle's," Min-Seok said as he unlocked the door. "He lived alone. Died a few years back. I tried to keep up with it, but…" He shrugged. "Couldn't bring myself to stay."
Jin-Woo stepped inside.
The walls were thick. He could tell by the way sound died quickly, swallowed instead of bouncing back. The air smelled faintly of dust and old wood, not mold. Good.
He walked through the rooms without comment. No furniture. No clutter. Just space. He tested doors. Windows. Counted them without looking obvious about it. He moved to the basement next, descending slowly.
Concrete. Reinforced. Deep.
Min-Seok watched him with mild curiosity. "You're really checking it over."
"I need to be sure," Jin-Woo said.
They circled the exterior after that. Jin-Woo noted the distance to the nearest warehouse. The clear line of sight to the road. The land behind the house was flat, open, unused. Farmland not too far off. A water source within walking distance.
He didn't picture a bed. Or a kitchen. Or warmth.
He pictured control.
Back inside, Min-Seok leaned against the counter, arms folded. "So?"
Jin-Woo reached into his coat, pulled out his checkbook, and began writing without hesitation.
Min-Seok blinked. "Wait- you're actually gonna buy this place?"
Jin-Woo tore the check free and handed it over. "Full price."
Min-Seok stared at the number, then up at him. "You didn't even negotiate."
"There's nothing to negotiate," Jin-Woo said.
For a moment, Min-Seok looked like he might say something else. Then he laughed, a sharp, relieved sound. "Man. You have no idea how much this helps."
He folded the check carefully, like it might disappear if he wasn't gentle with it. "We should celebrate. Drinks are on you now, obviously."
Jin-Woo shook his head. "After that, I can't afford it."
Min-Seok laughed again. "Fair enough."
They finished the basics quickly. No paperwork tonight, just an understanding between two people who trusted each other enough to keep things simple.
As Min-Seok headed for the door, he paused, then reached into his pocket and tossed Jin-Woo a set of keys. They jingled softly as Jin-Woo caught them.
"We'll handle the official stuff tomorrow," Min-Seok said. "But as far as I'm concerned? It's yours."
"Thanks," Jin-Woo said.
Min-Seok hesitated, then added, "You sure you're okay out here alone?"
Jin-Woo nodded. "I will be."
The door closed behind him.
Silence settled over the house.
Jin-Woo didn't turn on the lights. He stood where he was, keys cool in his palm, listening to the quiet. No warmth. No comfort. Just space and possibility.
He didn't unpack.
He looked at the walls, the corners, the ceiling, already dividing the house into sections in his mind. Storage. Reinforcement. Points of failure. Points of strength.
This will survive.
He walked to the center of the room and stopped.
One week.
He had work to do.