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Thick, billowing smoke, like a thin white cloth suspended in the sky. Hooded eyes. Red, bloody lips. The same vacant stare, the same glittering golden chains.
He was so used to seeing them.
"Hyojong," he called out, not even bothering to keep the condescing tone from taking over his voice, being almost completely sure that the man was incapacitated at the moment. "You called?"
The man raised his head, his thin but firm figure splayed on the massive, off-white armchair like a puppet. "Hm?"
His eyes were glazed over, the boy noted with a small, satisfied smile. The same expressionless expression, the same sighing voice. Eyebags. Messy lipstick. Hollow, sunken cheeks. Sallow, sickly-looking skin.
"It's been confirmed. Seoho picked up where Taeyong left off, saw the bloody pocketknife dropped at the roadside leading round to the airport." He kept his words firm, language clear and concise so he could be sure that his boss actually understood him. "She's gone."
For a split second, the placid look went out of Hyojong's eyes like a light. He removed his hand from his mouth, the cigarette dangling precariously between his bruised fingers, looking like it could fall any moment.
"The Hwang girl?"
"Yes," the boy answered, gritting his teeth to keep from calling the man stupid. Who else if not her?
"Seoho tailed her?" Hyojong asked, his nasally voice dropping lower with each syllable until the last was nothing but a whisper of the wind. "Where is...he?"
His words were slightly slurred, slightly unsure. The boy wrinkled his nose, thankful for the dim lighting so his expression wouldn't be noticed by the man. There was no denying that the drugged escape was helpful when you were half-living, half-dying, but he still didn't treat them as his most obvious solution.
"We're following her," he said instead of voicing his opinions about second-hand smoking. "Me, Seoho, a couple others. Jeon will probably be sending someone for keeping her company too, so it's not the most quick option—but it's the only one."
Hyojong's hand curled around the cigarette, and the boy winced as he crushed the thin stick, ignoring the pain of the burn and discarding it by dropping it carelessly on the floor. The gesture looked careless, but not to his trained eye.
"Who else?" He hissed, eyes narrowing into slits. The boy swallowed. Not a good sign.
"Someone to look over the whole thing," he muttered. "Maybe the boss will show up. We don't know yet, but she's a Hwang after all."
He, personally, didn't care much about the Hwang-Lee business, even if it involved his own family. Maybe the girl would be an interesting plaything.
"The boss, hm?" The man's eyes glazed over again, the thin, dirty blonde strands of hair falling away from his forehead as he ripped his head back. "Does he know about this fuck-up?"
"Yes," he replied stiffly, curling his lips in distaste. Obviously. "That's why he might show up."
"Where is he..." Hyojong struggled to find the phrase, looking deceptively helpless, "now? Where is the heir right now?"
The boy's forehead creased. "We don't know."
The man drew in a sharp breath, sighing it out, as if under the influence of a siren. Well, he was, in a way. "You need help," he said. "Inside man. Not the boss. We can't risk the boss."
"What?" The man made sense sometimes, but today was not one of those days.
"Him, of course." He breathed. "You can't take anyone else."
The boy frowned. "What do you mean?"
"Taemin," Hyojong said, licking his cherry-red lips, chest heaving. "Call Lee Taemin."
