Yejun froze, slowly sinking back in his seat. “Then they wouldn’t be watching you anymore,” he said. “At least, for a few minutes. But as soon as the timeline refreshed, and your file stayed open, they would know you were alive.”
“Unless I didn’t exist,” I said. “Unless I was somewhere they couldn’t find me.”
A small smile curled the corner of Yejun’s mouth. “Mina, what are you planning?”
“Do you think one hour is enough time to save my sister and then the world?” I said, scooping up another bite of cheesecake.
“It might be cutting it close,” Yejun said, “but I think you can make it work.”
Chapter Nineteen
The first step in Operation: Fake Kill Yang Mina was to make sure that the agent supervising the mission would be standing far away at the rally so he wouldn’t get a close look at our tricks.
Yejun’s solution was to feed a squirrel a peanut butter and honey sandwich a few days in the past, which rendered it so full that it fell asleep instead of darting in front of someone’s car and causing a fender bender. Without the accident, the rear car didn’t realize that he needed his brakes checked. He wouldn’t figure it out until the morning of the rally, when he’d skid through an intersection and slam into an ice cream truck. The whole intersection would have to be shut down, and the supervising agent would get caught in the traffic jam, making him show up late to the rally and unable to get a good vantage point.
Then, of course, there was the matter of making sure Yejun didn’t have to actually kill me.
The most logical way to ensure my safety in that regard was, of course, by patching up a hole in an alley outside an Italian restaurantone day in the past. The mice that normally snuck scraps out of the kitchen had no choice but to hunt for food elsewhere, and a trail of breadcrumbs led them to a bakery, where they cleared out the cranberry bin in record time. As a result, the bakery made a batch of chocolate chip muffins rather than their usual cranberry muffins. The assistant at the firearms desk at headquarters bought one, assuming it was cranberry, and accidentally ate four chocolate chips, which triggered a migraine. When Yejun came by that morning to check out his live rounds and a Kevlar vest, the assistant was too dizzy and distracted to realize he’d given Yejun blank rounds instead.
“Are you sure these are blanks?” I said, rolling one of the tiny golden cylinders between my fingers as Yejun loaded his gun in the alley outside Caffebene. “This still looks like it could kill me.”
“I’m positive,” Yejun said. “There’s no projectile on top. You see how it just looks like a tube instead of a little rocket?”
I passed it back to him, unconvinced.
“Hyebin never showed you blanks?” Yejun asked.
I shook my head. “Can’t do target practice with blanks. I must have used them at some point, though. I’ve seen those somewhere.”
Yejun handed me the Kevlar vest, which I stuffed into my backpack, then we parted ways so we could both get ready for the rally that night.
I managed to choke down some instant ramen for dinner, then strapped on the Kevlar vest, followed by a plastic bag of corn syrup, water, and red food dye, which I secured with packing tape to my abdomen. I pulled Hana’s baggy pink-and-orange sweater over the top to hide it all, then practiced walking like I wasn’t wearing a Kevlar corset.
In my front holster, I had the gun I’d signed out of headquarters that morning, since as far as anyone else knew, I fully intended to kill Min Sungho. I hated the weight of an actual loaded gun againstmy skin and was sure that despite all the firearm training, I was going to accidentally shoot my own toes off.
When I got to the rally, Yejun would shoot a blank at me, breaking the blood bag but hopefully not any ribs. I would play possum until the crowd dispersed, and then I’d commence my hour off grid.
I can do this, I told my reflection as I slipped on my shoes and grabbed my backpack off the floor. I was fairly certain I wasn’t supposed to take something as big as a backpack to a political rally where security would be tight, but my purse still smelled like pork thanks to my failed attempt at ruining my date with Jihoon. I cast one last glance in the mirror at my skunk-streaked hair and headed into the night.
I kept double-checking that my wallet was in my bag as I walked, irrationally afraid that Hana’s note was going to disintegrate the moment I couldn’t see it. I’d hoped the note would give me courage, but Hana felt strangely far away today. Even though I was wrapped in her sweater, I didn’t feel like she was hugging me like usual, as if the Kevlar was shielding me from both the bullets and her touch.
I took the subway, which was packed with people holding signs for the political rally. The train car rocked me back and forth, and I did my best to tug my sweater down, paranoid that someone would notice my gun.
When I finally arrived, I followed the crowd out of the subway station and up to the main street, which was lit with so many streetlights and neon signs that it might as well have been broad daylight, even though the sun had already set.
I locked eyes with Yejun, who was waiting for me on the stairs, just as we’d planned.
I walked up to him and angled myself so I was facing the street, where the supervising agent would get a clear view of all the blood but not much else. When Min Sungho headed down the walkway,I would make a show of preparing to shoot and then changing my mind and trying to leave, at which point Yejun would grab me, I would resist, and he would fire his blank at me.
“Showtime?” I said with a small smile.
“Showtime,” Yejun echoed, not meeting my gaze. His eyes darted around the rally, his fingers twitching and tugging at the sleeves of his jacket. He had always seemed so at ease, but now it seemed like his bones were trying to shake free from his body.
“What’s wrong?” I said.
“Is that a serious question?” he said. “This is kind of an important mission.”
“What, you think you’ll miss?” I said, smirking and poking his stomach.
