"You're bulletproof as long as I'm around baby."
"You're going to be the one with a bullet in you if you don't stop calling me baby."
***
You're the daughter of the head of a one of Korea's top spy agencies. When your father is assassinated, your...
A/N: I'm so in love with writing this fic. Oh, and I promise I won't keep using Singularity gifs, but they've just been fitting so well. Plus, Singularity Tae is one of my favs. Also, this chapter contains depictions of PTSD and some more violence (both of which will feature pretty heavily in this book). I keep most of PTSD fairly metaphorical and specific to the character, but if its something that may trigger you please don't read, or you can message me before you read and I can give you a low down on what happens without anything too triggering :).
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***
The dream started out just as your grandmother always said it would. You were standing on the beach--barefoot--the sand rubbing your skin raw. It wasn't the soft sand found on pristine tropical beaches, it was the kind that felt gritty against your skin like sandpaper.
You could make out his form just offshore. He stood solitary among the waves. His white hanbok flowed slightly in the wind and his withering hair was flat against his head.
"Minnie," he said, his voice reverberating throughout the beach as if you were in a canyon. You could tell it wasn't quite him. His skin was too pale and his body stood too rigidly. Your father--despite his stressful job--never held the tension in his posture.
"It isn't you," you said. You rooted your feet in the sand as far as you could without making them bleed.
Your grandmother had been superstitious. She went to a fortune teller every week and never slept with a fan on. She always told you it was bad luck to see a dead family member in a dream. "They'll steal your soul," she said, as she mixed kimchi.
You'd never been very superstitious yourself, but even your dream self was weary. Maybe it was because you were raised by a former spy who taught you never to trust anyone. Even those you loved most.
Your father didn't move. The tide began to come in moving closer and closer to your feet with each swipe. It left behind a red residue. A red tide.
"Minnie, I miss you."
"I miss you, too." Your voice barely a whisper was barely heard over the wind and waves. Your hand began to reach out. And, soon your feet were digging their way out of the sand and walking toward the ocean.
There was a resistance in your body. It pulled your back at the spine, like a rubber band trying to snap backward. Yet, something kept pulling. Pulling you closer to the ocean. Closer to your father. Closer to snapping.
The waves were lapping at your ankles. The red residue stained your feet as the water retreated back toward your father. The bottom hem of his hanbok was beginning to lap up the red tide.
"Minnie, come with me," he said, holding out his hand.
You could reach out and touch his hand if you wanted. Feel his skin against yours. Feel warm again. You raised hand slowly, your fingertips centimeters from his own.
