I crashed onto my side on concrete.
A car horn blared at me and I flinched at the sound, pushing myself up on my elbows.
I was back in Eungam—I recognized the intersection near the fruit stands, the caféon the corner. The sudden brightness of the streetlights and solidness of the ground was so jarring that I wondered if I’d actually been hit by the car. But all my limbs were still there—tangled with Yejun’s, in fact—and there was no pain, just a searing numbness like my whole body had fallen asleep.
Yejun scrambled to his feet and looked around.
“Yejun,” I said, “did you actually—”
“I have to go!” he said, turning off and running.
I tried to follow him, but the driver of the car stepped out and stood in front of me. “I didn’t hit you did I?” he said. A small crowd had gathered at the scene, so I hurried to my feet, brushing off my shirt.
“I’m fine,” I said, and promptly stumbled against the side of the car because my legs were so numb. “Really, I’m fine,” I said, hurrying away before anyone could call an ambulance. I melted into the crowd on the main road, slowly reminding myself of the feeling of shoes on my feet, sidewalk beneath me, one step at a time. After about a block, I was starting to feel normal again.
I looked back at the street where Yejun had run away, as if I could conjure him through sheer willpower. I thought of my own face carved into his sky, the scenes of us together that lived only in his heart.
I didn’t know what to make of it. Yejun had never said anything out loud that suggested these were his dreams, and dreams that stayed locked in your heart didn’t matter. Maybe our time magic tangling together had branded me into his soul whether he liked it or not.
I imagined the descendants catching him, throwing him to the ground and turning him to ash, all because he’d taken a risk to save me. The thought of Hong Gildong sinking his claws into Yejun made me want to burn headquarters to the ground.
But I knew that if I wanted Yejun to be safe, I had to keep my distance for now. Drawing more attention to him would be dangerous. Even though my bones screamed for me to turn around and follow him, I forced myself to keep walking home. Yejun was used to being a rogue, he was good at hiding and planning and surviving. I would have to trust that he would be okay.
Chapter Thirteen
My mom seemed blissfully unaware of the parade in my skull as she slammed the cabinets open and shut, rattled silverware in its drawer, and shuffled metal pots and pans around.
I should have been grateful someone else was home at all, because I couldn’t have peeled myself from the couch if I’d wanted to—the overhead light was too painful. My mom plonked a cup of tea on the coffee table and sat down at my feet, rubbing a hand up and down my legs.
“Drink that when it’s cool,” she said. “It will help your headache.”
I groaned. “Is it some Japanese drug again?” Once, my mom had sent me to some herbalist for insomnia who’d prescribed me a tea that knocked me out cold for fourteen hours.
“No,” my mom said. “It has a shot of bourbon.”
I cracked an eye open. “Seriously?”
“You’re legally allowed to drink now, and it works on timesickness!” she said, putting her hands up defensively.
“I don’t think this is timesickness,” I said. “I don’t have any open loops. Hyebin already checked for me.”
In fact, she’d checked again today when I’d called out sick because of my headache.
My mom frowned and jabbed a finger behind my right ear. Pain flared where she’d touched, making me wince.
“It’s classic timesickness,” she said, leaning back and crossing her arms.
At first I thought it was a trick of light, but my gaze focused on her pinky finger, which was a different color from her other fingers. It looked oddly gray, blue veins visible beneath the surface, the skin wrinkled and nail yellowed.
“What happened to your finger?” I said.
My mom froze, recrossing her arms so I couldn’t see. “What finger?” she said.
“You know what finger.”
“It’s nothing to worry about,” she said, standing up and pretending to rearrange the cereal boxes, her back turned to me. “I got caught in a timeline fluctuation. It doesn’t hurt, it’s just a bit… aged. Like your new hairdo.”
I sat up, wincing as the blood rushed from my head. “Can you fix it? What did your boss say?”
