Page 71 of Marked By Him

“It’s cowardice,” I fire back. “Sometimes the bravest thing to do is resist. Even if it costs you.”

His dark, almond-shaped eyes meet mine, the tension crackling between us. “Not everyone has the luxury to resist.”

The conversation leaves me unsettled. It reminds me how Jin is very much a part of a system like the Baekho Pa, where he’s to operate within their twisted rules and beliefs. Things like all witnesses must be eliminated. Anyone who threatens their way of life, even unintentionally, must die.

Later in the week, on an afternoon where Jin goes nowhere, he surprises me by handing over his laptop.

“Thirty minutes,” he says. “No emails or messages to anyone. You’re only allowed to browse.”

I type my name into the search engine.

The results are flooded with headlines in both English and Korean:

American Teacher Monroe Ross Murdered in Busan: Police Still Investigating

Photos are often included in the news articles. Pictures of my apartment complex and of my passport photo, where I was smiling brightly at the camera. It feels morbid to read about myself like this, to see my photos circulated as I’m discussed in the past tense.

Police are speculating it was a botched robbery.

In one clip, Mom sobs during a local news segment. She’s shattered, crying so hard it makes my heart ache. A tightness thickens in my throat and I snap shut the laptop, unable to bear another second.

Glancing at Jin, he’s by the window, arms crossed. Guilt fills the space between us, his silence its own acknowledgment.

When I’m menstruating and experiencing cramps, I find a warm mug of herbal tea waiting for me. I never told him I started my period, but he must’ve picked up on it anyway.

“Drink it before it gets cold,” he says from over his shoulder. “And sleep in my bed. You need the rest.”

And when I sleep late into the evening, he’s waiting for me with takeout for dinner and the TV playing.

“I know you’ve been watching K-dramas,” he says. At the confused knit of my brows, he elaborates. “I saw you watch them when I was monitoring you. Besides, I heard women enjoy greasy food and binge-watching television when on their periods. A stereotype? Possibly. But some can be rooted in truth, yes?”

My lips part for a soft laugh. “In this case? Absolutely.”

McDonaldsbags sit on the coffee table. He unpacks everything with mechanical precision: cheeseburgers wrapped in waxy paper, boxes of french fries, twenty piece chicken nuggets, plenty of sauces, two McFlurries (Oreo, obviously), and even a pack of cookies sealed in soft, melting heat.

I inhale the familiar salted scent of their fries and feel my stomach quake from more than cramps for the first time in hours.

We sit beside each other on the small futon couch and dig in. Jin’s already selected the show we’ll be watching. The opening credits play, showing a winter landscape and a couple standing under falling snow.

I frown, dipping a nugget into barbecue sauce. “Winter Sonata?”

He gives a grunt. “You’ve seen it?”

“I’ve heard of it. It’s one of the most popular K-dramas in history, right?”

“They showed it at the orphanage,” he answers, gaze fixed on the screen. The lead actress sobs into her mittens, flakes ofsnow caught in her lashes. “Old re-runs. I used to sneak into the recreation room after lights-out and watch in the dark.”

I glance at him, his strong, sharp profile cast in the soft blue light from the TV. I see a powerful man beside me, yet I also sense the boy he once was when he watched this.

“You liked it?” I ask gently.

“It… was an escape.”

I lay a hand gently on top of his. His skin is warm, the back of his hand marked with scars and tattoos. He looks down at the touch but doesn’t pull away.

“I wish I knew you then.”

“I was a lost soul. I left the orphanage after a few years and sought a life of crime.”

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