The city never slept, but Haeun couldn't remember ever feeling so wide awake at this hour.
She sat on the edge of her bed, the light from her phone still casting a dim glow across the sheets. The message—"A mistake you haven't made yet."—still lingered on the screen, like a whisper she couldn't unhear.
She hadn't replied. She couldn't. Something inside her told her this wasn't just a prank or some random stalker. This was connected—to the dreams, the journal, the strange pulse she'd felt in her wrist earlier that day.
Her fingers curled around the old ring she'd dug out of her mother's jewelry box just hours ago. A smooth band, antique silver. Nothing special on the surface.
But tonight, under the moonlight, it had hummed.
Literally.
She rubbed her thumb over its surface. She couldn't explain it, but it almost felt alive. Like it was… calling her. Reminding her.
She stood up and walked to the mirror. It wasn't a conscious decision. Her legs just moved.
The full-length mirror across the room reflected her usual figure—messy hair, oversized hoodie, and a thousand-yard stare.
But something was off.
She blinked.
There, behind her reflection, stood a woman dressed in white—traditional hanbok, pale face, red thread coiled tightly around her wrist.
Haeun gasped and spun around.
No one there.
Her heart thundered. She turned back to the mirror.
Gone.
She staggered backward, breath uneven.
"What the hell is happening to me…" she whispered.
Her phone buzzed again.
Unknown Number: "You've started to remember. That means others will too. Be careful who you trust."
Before she could type anything back, her screen glitched. The app closed. Then her phone powered off entirely.
Dead.
Even though it had 73% battery.
Her knees buckled. She sat on the floor and wrapped her arms around her legs, trying to breathe through the tightness in her chest.
A single tear rolled down her cheek.
She wasn't scared of ghosts.
She was scared of what they might be trying to tell her.
---
Meanwhile – Jinhwan's Private Residence
Jinhwan sat alone on the rooftop balcony, an untouched glass of whiskey sweating on the table beside him.
He hadn't gone back to the office after Ian left. Instead, he came here—to the place he always retreated to when he needed to remember who he used to be.
The night air was sharp, the stars blurry against Seoul's light-polluted sky. But his thoughts were clearer than ever.
He pulled out his phone and stared at a contact with no name—just a single letter: H.
He hadn't texted her since the day he left her in the hospital hallway six months ago.
That day haunted him.
She had looked so small on that bed. Pale. Hurt. But what shattered him most was the betrayal in her eyes when he said goodbye.
"I'm not who you think I am, Haeun."
He'd meant it as protection.
But it only wounded her more.
He should have told her everything. Even if she wouldn't have believed it. Even if it drove her away.
Now, he might not get another chance.
He hesitated, then finally typed:
"Are you safe?"
The message stayed unsent.
He deleted it.
He had no right to ask that anymore.
---
Elsewhere – Namdaemun Market
A man wove through the late-night crowd of vendors, his black coat unbuttoned and flapping behind him like wings.
He stopped at a quiet stall where talismans hung from twine and incense burned in neat clay dishes.
"Is she awake?" he asked.
The elderly woman behind the stall didn't look up. She simply handed him a folded piece of paper.
"She saw the mirror tonight," she said in a voice like sand. "It begins again."
The man unfolded the paper. On it was a charcoal sketch of a girl with sad eyes—and a red thread wrapping around her wrist.
He didn't speak for a long moment.
Finally, he whispered, "Then I'll find her before they do."
---
Back in Haeun's Apartment
Haeun stood in front of the mirror again, her hand resting on the glass.
The woman in white wasn't there anymore.
But the feeling remained.
A strange thought crossed her mind.
Maybe it wasn't a ghost.
Maybe it was her.
A version of herself from another time.
A life she couldn't remember—yet somehow still carried in her bones.
She closed her eyes.
And then, like someone had flipped a switch, a memory—foreign yet familiar—rushed into her mind.
A palace courtyard. Pink blossoms floating through the wind. A voice calling her name. And the sound of a sword clattering to the ground.
Her own voice, whispering: "I choose him."
She gasped, clutching her chest.
Her heart ached like it had been pierced.
She sank to the floor again, tears spilling freely now. Not from fear. But grief.
Grief for a life she couldn't remember.
Grief for a choice she hadn't yet made.
---
At the Edge of Seoul – A Temple Long Forgotten
The man in the black coat arrived at the base of the steps. The temple gates loomed ahead, old and weathered but pulsing with dormant energy.
He reached into his coat and pulled out an ornate blade wrapped in silk.
He whispered to no one, "It's time, isn't it?"
The wind shifted.
The seals along the temple walls flickered faintly in red light.
The past was returning.
And not everyone would survive it.