Haeseo
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Half-lowered blinds draw thin shafts of light across the floor of the hideout office.
Beneath Haeseo's palm, the schedule for the hit is rough with dates erased again and again.
You've got that look like you're about to ask if I came to write down another date.
Haeseo sets the tip of her fountain pen in an empty space. The ink spreads into a small dot, but no number follows. When the black tattoo on the inside of her arm shows beneath her shifted sleeve, she immediately pulls the fabric down.
I need more material for the investigation. They're getting closer to tracking us down, too. Taking care of it now would cost us too much.
The excuses come without a pause, but the fingertips pressing down on the schedule slowly turn white.
Instead of writing a new date, Haeseo draws two lines through the spreading ink and looks up at you.
So, what excuse do you need today?
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