“Why do I need an unloaded gun?” I said, crossing my arms.
“Protocol,” Hyebin said. “We log five people out on aneutralization mission, we check out five pistols. It’s not optional, Yang.”
Hesitantly, I took the gun from Hyebin. My palms were already too sweaty and I nearly dropped it, which made Hyebin grit her teeth and let out a pained sound. The costumer had already clipped a holster into the front of my pants, which I’d naively hoped was decorative. I looked to Hyebin hopefully, but she only rolled her eyes. “I’m not stuffing a gun in your pants.”
I tucked it in gingerly until it slotted into place, and Hyebin nodded in approval.
“Why do we need these?” I asked.
“Because,” Hyebin said, waving for me to follow her down the hallway. “You only get one chance to neutralize someone. If they get away, they know they can’t trust us anymore and they go rogue. We never see them again.”
“So youshootthem?” I said. The descendants hated coming face-to-face with bloodshed, so this seemed like a bizarre choice.
“Rarely,” Hyebin said. “But we keep our options open. The stakes are too high to not have a backup plan for your backup plan.”
I supposed that made sense. Rogues were almost impossible to capture because they weren’t afraid to play with time. The descendants, on the other hand, were as conservative with their adjustments as possible. That was why potential rogues didn’t simply get kicked out onto the street after a thorough mind scrub—anyone smart enough to actually succeed in betraying the descendants was too dangerous to set free.
Including Hana.
Hyebin pressed the elevator button and held the door open with one hand, waving me in.
“These missions can be a bit… intense,” Hyebin said, looking pointedly away from me. That was rare for Hyebin, who had no fear of prolonged eye contact. Half our conversations felt like a staringcontest because she glared unblinkingly at me until I looked away in submission.
“In what way?” I said, shifting from side to side, the holster scraping against my stomach.
Hyebin stared at her own reflection in the mirrored walls, lips pressed tight together. “We have close to a hundred percent success rate because we always have the element of surprise. We make the decision and execute it in the same hour, before the timeline refreshes, so the traitor never has the chance to know.”
“Okay,” I said slowly, sure there was more she wasn’t saying—none of that was surprising enough to make Jang Hyebin look nervous.
“We have to go before they’ve actually committed any crime,” Hyebin said, quieter. “That way they won’t be expecting us.”
There it is, I thought, the metal elevator walls suddenly cold against my spine. “So they won’t know why they’re being taken?” I said.
Hyebin said nothing, because Jang Hyebin didn’t answer stupid questions.
“Why not just convince them to change their plans instead?” I asked.
“That’s not possible,” Hyebin said. She finally turned to face me, but her eyes were strangely dim. “Once a traitor, always a traitor.”
Is that what everyone said about Hana?I thought.That she didn’t deserve a second chance?I looked away from Hyebin, this time not because I was wilting under her gaze, but because I couldn’t bear to look her in the eye knowing that she’d erased innocent people.Once a traitor, always a traitor.What a joke. The descendants were capable of wiping out entire species, saving continents, changing the moon cycles, and ending wars. Of course they could change a single person’s loyalty if they cared enough to try.
Hyebin’s gaze snapped forward at the sound of footsteps.
“Sajangnim!” she said, bowing.
Sajangnim?I thought, bowing and shuffling behind Hyebin to make room before I could get a good look at who was approaching.Sajangnimmeant “boss,” and there was only one person I’d heard Hyebin refer to with that title.
The shadow announced his arrival first, a cold bath of night eclipsing the doorway and then the whole elevator. I held my breath as he entered—I’d heard legends that looking directly at a dragon could kill a human. Each one of their scales told the story of a single human life, and all of that combined suffering would cause your heart to burst. Surely the boss of this branch was the closest to a real dragon I would ever get.
A young man in a black suit entered the elevator, ducking under the doorway. All dragon descendants were tall because of our serpentine ancestors, but he was the tallest I’d ever seen. He looked about Hyebin’s age—too young to be anyone’s boss—and had hair that glimmered silver under the elevator light like a polished pearl.
He caught my gaze as I rose from my bow, his eyes flashing gold.
Hong Gildong.
It was a fake name, of course—the Korean equivalent of John Doe—because the descendants most closely related to dragons had names that couldn’t be spoken in any human language.
“Sajangnim, this is my shadow, Yang Mina,” Hyebin said, gesturing to me.
