shadows of the past
Prologue
The streets were quiet, except for the steady hum of my bicycle wheels spinning against the cracked asphalt. Evening air brushed cool against my face, carrying with it the faint scent of rain from a storm that must have passed earlier. Overhead, the sky melted slowly into shades of violet and black, streaked with dying rays of orange like an artist refusing to put the brush down. For a moment, it almost looked peaceful. Almost.
My name is Hana Grace Collins, and this… this wasn’t supposed to be my life. Not the bruises, not the whispers at school, not the constant weight in my chest that made it hard to breathe.
I told Mom — Lee Soo-jin — that I didn’t need a driver. I wanted to fit in. To be normal. I wanted to ride to school the way other girls did, hair messy in the wind, clothes slightly rumpled from the morning rush. But normal girls didn’t glance over their shoulders every few seconds, didn’t pedal faster at the sound of footsteps, didn’t feel their heart pounding like a trapped bird at the thought of being followed.
The voice came first. Sharp. Mocking. “Hey, rich girl.”
Then the laughter. Cruel, familiar, like knives being sharpened in the dark.
They slipped out of the alley like shadows peeling themselves from the walls. Three of them. Faces half-hidden by phone screens, camera lights glowing like predatory eyes. Their voices rose in unison, filled with a hunger that wasn’t about food — it was about power, about control.
“Smile,” one of the girls sneered, her lips twisting as she shoved me hard off my bike. My knees smacked the asphalt with a sickening c***k, pain shooting up my legs. I tasted dust and iron on my tongue, but before I could even catch my breath, the first kick slammed into my side.
“Still think you’re better than us?” another hissed, venom dripping from her voice. A slap followed — sharp, stinging, humiliating. Their laughter echoed like broken glass in my ears, but the phones were louder. The endless clicks, the recordings, the flashes of light turning my pain into something for their entertainment. My tears would be their likes. My bruises would be their shares.
And then I saw him. Min-hyuk.
He leaned casually against the wall, hands buried deep in his pockets, expression unreadable. Watching. Silent. His dark eyes met mine for a fraction of a second, and I couldn’t decide if it was indifference or something else flickering there.
A girl yanked my hair, jerking my head back so hard I gasped. “Let’s make this the best clip yet,” she whispered against my ear, her breath hot and cruel. Another shove. Another slap. A kick to my shin that made my legs buckle. My arms trembled as I tried to push them away, my voice cracking in a plea that never left my throat.
The last shove came harder than all the rest. My skull met something solid and cold — the corner of the pavement, the edge of a wall, I couldn’t tell. The world tilted violently, vision smearing into streaks of light and shadow.
And the final thing I saw before darkness claimed me was Min-hyuk’s face — closer now, his features framed by the harsh glow of the streetlamp. Eyes dark. Expression unreadable. A mystery I would never solve that night.
Then the world went silent.
