The new apartment still smelled like paint and fresh sawdust. Light leaked through tall windows, tracing over two figures slouched in pajamas at the kitchen counter—Mirae, legs dangling, spooning cereal from a chipped mug, and Harin, hair a tangled cloud, stirring tea she hadn't tasted. Downstairs, the city was humming with rumors and venom. Up here, for a rare moment, there was a strange hush between them—something raw, neither peace nor war.
Mirae glanced sideways. "You always this tense in the morning?"
Harin tried to smirk but the effort fell flat. "Only when someone's sabotaged my building, my company's under attack, and I woke up in a new apartment that isn't home yet."
Mirae twirled her spoon. "Could be worse. At least the elevator's working today. I… I used to think you hated me, you know. Before all this."
