At 4:12 a.m., Do-yoon decided his life needed two things.
Sleep.
And an honest father.
Unfortunately, of the two, the odds of getting the second were much lower.
He sat on the floor of the shamanic shrine with his back against the sofa, while Jae-hyun slept half-upright in a chair with his jacket pulled over his head.
Sleep wasn’t an option.
Sleep was surrender.
And Do-yoon wasn’t stupid enough to give up when someone—or something—had just told him that his mother might not have died on the night he’d always believed she had.
He looked at the clock.
4:13.
“Damn,” he muttered.
Jae-hyun shifted slightly.
“Mm.”
“Wake up.”
“No.”
“I haven’t even said anything yet.”
“I know that tone you use when you’re about to get us into trouble.”
Do-yoon looked at him.
“I’m going to my dad’s.”
Jae-hyun opened one eye.
“Now?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“Because if I wait until morning, I’ll change my mind.”
“Good.”
“That’s exactly what I’m afraid of.”
Jae-hyun sat up slowly.
His hair was a mess. His face was creased. All in all, he looked like someone who’d just found out that being Do-yoon’s friend came with serious occupational hazards.
“What are you going to ask him?”
“Everything.”
“Starting with?”
Do-yoon looked at the altar.
“My mom.”
Jae-hyun fell silent.
This time, he didn’t joke.
“You sure?”
“No.”
“Then?”
“I still want to know.”
Jae-hyun nodded.
That was one thing he understood about Do-yoon.
Do-yoon could avoid plenty of things.
Bills.
Calls from his father.
Messages from his ex.
Administrative work.
Even a relationship that had actually ended three months ago.
But the second anything touched his mother, all his escape mechanisms stopped working.
Maybe because she was the one part of his past he could never turn into a joke.
They arrived at Jung-woo’s apartment at 4:47 a.m.
The living room light was on.
Do-yoon stopped in front of the door.
“He’s still awake.”
Jae-hyun checked the time.
“Plenty of normal people are still awake this late.”
“Jae-hyun.”
“Yeah?”
“Wait here.”
Jae-hyun looked at him as if Do-yoon had just suggested going into a tiger’s cage alone.
“Why?”
“This is my family.”
“That’s exactly why I’m coming in.”
Do-yoon sighed.
“I don’t want you hearing all of it.”
“I already heard a ghost call your name from the back seat.”
Jae-hyun pointed at himself.
“After that, I deserve some context.”
Do-yoon almost laughed.
Almost.
He knocked on the door.
No answer.
He knocked again.
“Dad.”
A few seconds later, the door opened.
Jung-woo stood there.
His face was calm.
Too calm.
He looked at Do-yoon.
Then at Jae-hyun.
“Why are you here so early?”
Do-yoon walked in without answering.
Jung-woo didn’t stop him.
That made Do-yoon even more wary.
His father always had a question.
Always had a comment.
Always found a way to make Do-yoon’s arrival seem like an administrative error.
But that morning, he just stayed quiet.
Do-yoon stopped in the living room.
“You know something about the night Mom died.”
Jung-woo didn’t answer.
Jae-hyun stood near the door.
Do-yoon continued.
“And don’t tell me I was too young.”
“I won’t.”
“Don’t tell me I remembered it wrong.”
“I won’t say that either.”
“Don’t tell me—”
“I know.”
Do-yoon fell silent.
Jung-woo walked over to the dining table.
He sat down.
Then he said,
“Sit.”
Do-yoon stayed on his feet.
“Are you going to tell me?”
“If you want to hear it.”
“I do.”
Jung-woo looked at his son.
Something in the man’s face suddenly made Do-yoon feel far younger than twenty-four.
“The night your mother died,” Jung-woo said, “I wasn’t home.”
Do-yoon frowned.
“You were working.”
“No.”
The answer came too quickly.
Do-yoon slowly sat down.
“Then where were you?”
Jung-woo drew a breath.
“I went to your mother’s house.”
“Mom’s house?”
“She was staying there for a few days.”
Do-yoon remembered.
He vaguely recalled an old house.
White curtains.
The smell of incense.
His mother often went there when her health got worse.
But for years, Jung-woo had always said it was just a place for her to rest.
“Why?”
Jung-woo didn’t answer right away.
“Because your mother asked me to come.”
Do-yoon stared at his father.
“For what?”
Jung-woo lowered his eyes.
“She said someone had come to see her.”
The room fell silent.
“Who?”
“She didn’t know.”
“Then what?”
“She said the woman always appeared at night.”
The back of Do-yoon’s neck went cold.
The woman in white.
“The one in the room?”
Jung-woo nodded.
Do-yoon swallowed.
“So you saw her too.”
“Yes.”
Jae-hyun, who’d been quiet until then, shifted slightly.
Do-yoon pressed on.
“Who is she?”
Jung-woo looked at him.
“I don’t know.”
“Liar.”
“Do-yoon.”
“You know.”
“Not everything I don’t tell you is a lie.”
“Then what is it?”
Jung-woo fell silent.
“Fear?”
The question changed Jung-woo’s expression.
Just a little.
But Do-yoon saw it.
His father looked away.
“Your mother died after that night.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“Don’t.”
Do-yoon’s voice began to rise.
“I’ve heard that for years.”
He stood up.
“I don’t know.”
Jung-woo stood too.
“Because I really don’t know.”
“If you don’t know, why did you forbid me from becoming a shaman?”
“Because I know what happened to your mother.”
Do-yoon went still.
Jung-woo closed his eyes.
Then he said quietly,
“It wasn’t because she became a shaman.”
Do-yoon stared at him.
“Then why?”
Jung-woo opened his eyes.
“Because she stopped being an ordinary human long before she died.”
The words landed between them like something heavy.
Jae-hyun didn’t move.
Neither did Do-yoon.
Then—
Ding.
A notification sounded from the table.
Jung-woo’s phone lit up.
A message from an unknown number.
Jung-woo looked at it.
So did Do-yoon.
It was only one sentence.
He’s starting to remember.
Jung-woo’s face changed at once.
Do-yoon looked at his father.
“What does that mean?”
Jung-woo didn’t answer.
The phone chimed again.
A second message.
Don’t let him meet that woman again.
Do-yoon felt something inside his chest drop.
“Which woman?”
Jung-woo remained silent.
“Dad.”
No answer.
Do-yoon stepped closer.
“Which woman?”
Jung-woo finally looked at him.
And for the first time since Do-yoon had known him, his father looked truly afraid.
“The woman you saw in the mirror.”
Do-yoon froze.
“She’s not a ghost.”
Jung-woo drew a breath.
“She’s not human.”
Behind them, the television, which had been off, suddenly turned on.
The black screen switched to its front-facing camera.
Do-yoon’s face appeared in the center of the screen.
Jae-hyun turned around.
“What the—”
Behind Do-yoon’s reflection on the television screen—
the woman in white stood there.
This time, her face was clear.
And Do-yoon recognized her.
Not because they’d ever met.
Not because he’d ever seen a photo of her.
But because the woman had the exact same face as someone he’d kept in his memory for years.
His mother’s face.
Do-yoon stopped breathing.
The woman on the screen smiled.
Then her lips moved.
Without a sound.
But Do-yoon could read the word.
Come home.