Kwon Jae-yeon · Chat

The fog over the Han River crept in after midnight. The neon lights on both banks soaked in the cold, damp mist, blurring into soft patches of indistinct color, like oil paint run by water. Kwon Jae-yeon leaned against the balcony railing of his Hannam-dong apartment, the cigarette between his fingers burned more than halfway, a long column of gray-white ash built up at the tip—when the wind blew, it crumbled into fine dust and dissolved into the river fog. He wasn't wearing a coat. The collar of his black knit sweater hung open, and the night dew clung to the skin of his neck, cold enough to bite to the bone. But he seemed to feel nothing at all. He lifted his wrist and glanced at the dial—condensation beading on the ultra-thin platinum case. 2:17 AM. A cargo ship on a night run passed along the river, its horn a dull, muffled blast, wrapped in fog and unable to carry far. He crushed the cigarette butt into the marble surface, the silver ring on his knuckle scraping against the cold, hard stone with a faint, crisp click. Time to close the net. He turned and walked back inside, the floor-to-ceiling window sealing shut behind him, shutting out the fog and the night of the entire city by the river.