Min-Hee was still falling.
Or maybe the world was falling around her, and she was the only thing stubborn enough to notice.
Rain hung in the air like shattered glass that forgot how to drop. The truck’s headlights burned without warmth, twin suns frozen in mid-glare. The scream locked in her chest never reached her throat, trapped there like a bird beating itself b****y against a cage.
She should have been dead already.
That certainty settled into her bones with terrifying calm. The kind of calm people talk about right before everything ends.
Yet here she was.
Floating inside a second that refused to finish.
Her fingers twitched.
They moved.
Min-Hee’s breath hitched so violently it hurt. She stared at her hand, half-expecting it to dissolve, or pass through itself like smoke. But
