Possessing what we still were unpossessed by,

Possessed by what we no more possessed.

Something we were withholding made us weak

Until we found out that it was ourselves.

- Robert Frost

DAEGU, KOREA – JUNG DISTRICT

i.

Centuries ago, when she was dying, she thought of Wook.

Not with any love, nor, at last, any confusion—only some extension of the grief and weariness that had overcome every other waking moment since she left the palace, and maybe even before that.

It wasn't her world, no matter how many people she came to love there. She was a fighter at first; then the fight was beaten out of her. She watched death and hatred and the hatred of death.

She was afraid, there, and some might say that made her a coward.

Perhaps she would have believed it herself, if she hadn't known Wook, and all the blood that a coward could spill.

…

Ha Jin freezes, hand crumpling her skirt as though his very presence is a stab wound. He looks as handsome as ever, tousled hair and pristine suit and glittering cufflinks.

He leaves her ice-cold.

Ghosts are not known for comfort; this ghost leaves her with something far less.

"Excuse me," he says, eyes blank. No recognition, thank heaven. Ha Jin does not know what she would do if it was Wook who remembered.

Of course—

—that means—

What if So doesn't remember?

Her heart clenches like a fist.

Wook has paused mid-step, and is considering her. "You look a little lost," he observes, charm itself. Those hooded eyes have lost none of their appearance of tenderness.

"Maybe a little." Ha Jin forces herself to smile. Her dress is nowhere near nice enough, she knows. Not for a textile exhibition. Trapped in the same world as her greatest hopes and fears, she wishes that she could have had more time to plan. "Would you show me?"

He offers her his arm.

This is not Goryeo, and Ha Jin is not a child. Maybe she is not Hae Soo.

But she slips her arm through his, and walks out into the crowd.

"Tell me when you see your people," Wook purrs, near her ear. He is so…considerate. She doesn't trust it for a moment. Did she mistake the look in his eyes for ignorance? Maybe he does remember, or some animal sense within him knows enough to keep her close. She tries not to tremble beside him.

She tries not to think of what this means, that he is here, in this world, in this time, under the name of Wang.

Goryeo wasn't a dream.

Nor, apparently, was it an ending.

ii.

"Who is that girl?"

"What girl? I only have eyes for you."

Yeon Hwa knows better than to believe a word out of Yo's mouth, and she raps his beringed knuckles with her YSL clutch. "Hajima. The girl with my brother."

Yo's gaze slides lazily to the cheaply dressed, slip-thin whore who is arm-in-arm with Wook. He shrugs. "Paid company."

"Ya!" She's already hit him once, she has to maintain her dignity. She daggers him with a glance instead. "Wook would never."

"Ah yes." Yo smiles the maddening smile of someone who is fully aware of how handsome he is. Ever since he started modeling, he's outlined his eyes in a fine ribbon of kohl. It makes him look otherworldly, and every bit as dangerous as Yeon Hwa knows him to be. "Wook is a man without vice."

Yeon Hwa doesn't believe that. Nobody is perfect; her brother has always been too careful, too deliberate, to enter fully into anyone else's suffering. That is a vice, but not one that she will divulge to Yo. The Wang brothers are prone to very different sins.

Sins, she thinks, with a speculative look at Yo's smirking lips, of passion.

"I'll find out myself," she hisses, and stalks away. Damn it all, why does So never come to these things? He's been away on business in Seoul ever since he was in his late teens.

And before that…

Yeon Hwa isn't blind. She's grown up practically side-by-side with this ruling family, she has seen every direction in which its power stretches.

The Hwangbo name comes second. Nights like tonight remind her of that.

Fittingly, she catches sight of Mrs. Wang at that very moment. Yoo—Yeon Hwa refers to her by her given name mentally, a safe internal show of disrespect—looks as young and inhuman as ever. She has soft, delicate features and hair untouched by frost, and she is the most terrifying person Yeon Hwa has ever met.

(Yeon Hwa's own mother is gracious and quiet, never caring much about her husband's share in Wang-Hwangbo, but always caring about her children's futures.)

No wonder So isn't here. Why would he want to be?

She steels her resolve and calls her brother's name. He turns, not letting go of his unknown escort's arm.

"Yeon Hwa. Do you know…"

"Ha Jin," the girl supplies. She's terribly pale. Not a flirt after all, but Yeon Hwa doesn't like her any better.

"I do not," Yeon Hwa says coldly, still speaking to her brother. "I thought this was a private event."

Wook looks more disappointed than embarrassed. It's a trick of his, conveying a perspective on others' feelings before he expresses his own. "Play nice, sister."

A chill of…memory, suspended halfway between regret and resolve settles over Yeon Hwa. She lifts the corners of her lips in a smile. "Very well. Enjoy your time here, Ha Jin." It is still a threat, of sorts, but pleasanter than she could have been.

She goes in search of another drink.

iii.

There's a figure huddled on the front steps of the Nam's house, and Jung halts.

"Who's there?"

"It's me," Eun says, unfolding himself from his dejected heap. "Aigo, my life is over."

"What now?" Jung rubs his jaw, hoping that the hit he took in the ring today won't bruise. Mother is already so severe on his beloved boxing; he doesn't need to present a marked-up face as further evidence of its unsuitability.

"What now? You don't know?"

Jung rarely knows anything. That's the benefit of being the youngest, favorite son. "I only know that you are skulking like a dog when we could be drinking. Eating. Anything, really."

"Heol! You really don't know." Eun is shaking his head. "So has come back! Remember So? Your older brother, the gangster? Who's killed, oh, I don't know, fifty men at least?"

"So hasn't killed anyone," Jung says, though he's far from certain. "But—shit. Are you sure?"

"Baek Ah has invited him to stay here," Eun says gloomily. "Baek Ah's come back too, not that we get to have any fun with him." He frowns dramatically. Eun does everything dramatically. "I'm surprised you didn't hear about it from Yo. Weren't you at the party?"

Jung scratches his neck, a little sheepish. "No. I…had a thing."

"A fight."

Eun knows him too well. Jung nods. "A fight."

"Did you win?"

"Aish!" Eun really is a disloyal little bastard. "Don't you have any faith in your hyung?"

"You're not my hyung," Eun grumbles. "We're practically the same age. Alright, what are we going to do about So? I am not staying in the same house as him, and it's my goddamn house!"

"Then," says a low, calm voice behind them, "Sleep on the street."

Jung and Eun spin round like tops.

So always looks the same to Jung. Stone-faced, panther-lean, dressed in black. In the half-darkness, it's harder to see his scar—a white rivulet that runs from the hollow of his eye to the edge of his cheekbone.

Jung has never heard the whole story.

"So," Eun chokes.

"Eun," So echoes. It's mocking—it must be, So is related to Yo and nobody mocks like Yo—but with So, it's always difficult to tell. He could describe the weather and his plans to murder someone in the same exact tone. "I'll toss out a blanket for you."

He doesn't speak to Jung. He turns his back and climbs the steps, two at a time, up the pathway to the front door. When it closes behind him, Eun finally regains his power to speak.

"Whew. We survived that."

Jung swallows. It's been three years at least since he saw his brother. It didn't even merit him a greeting.

He realizes, belatedly, that he didn't offer one either.

"Come," he says to Eun. "Let's go drinking."

iv.

"Your contributions are impressive."

Yo flattens his palm over his heart. "Thank you, father. I want to see our company flourish."

"No need for such formality," Taejo answers, as though he has ever demanded anything other than formality from all his sons but Mu. "Your help does not go unnoticed."

But it does go unappreciated. Yo smiles. "Truly, I am glad."

He feels his mother's approval radiate—not warmly, never warmly—but powerfully. She cuts like a blade and she has always taught Yo to cut with her. Sometimes, traitorously, he thinks that it was a choice between becoming the knife's edge and being shipped off to the Kang boarding school.

Not that So had learned his lesson; he keeps turning up like a bad coin.

Yo would rather not think of So tonight, but he has to. The tactile displays of his ruthlessly executed business deals were for his father; the message is for his mother. When his father totters off to find a comfortable seat, he turns to her.

"So has come back," he says. Might as well get to the point, and do it in the public eye, so that she won't rake her nails across his face in what will likely be her ensuing rage.

Yo has a higher-than-most (higher than So's) success rate of avoiding his mother's hands, but even so, it never hurts to be cautious.

Yoo turns a shade whiter, her gloved fingers tightening around a crystal champagne class. "To hell with him," she whispers harshly. "Will he never let me alone?"

Yo smiles thinly, ruefully. "It would seem not."

v.

Hating Jung is never as easy as he wants it to be.

So switches on the lights, drops his bags on the tiled floor and scans the room for anything amiss. Threat assessment is a rather permanent character trait.

Baek Ah had promised it would be no inconvenience to host him indefinitely at the Nam home, though Eun's protests are a keen reminder of how tenuous his welcome is…anywhere.

And he hasn't even tried to go home yet.

He drags his teeth along his lower lip. Yo almost certainly knows that he's here, which means his mother knows. Jung is the last in the loop always, because Jung is a child in a barely grown body, and Jung is going to outlast them all without even trying.

So scrapes a hand through his hair, which has grown long enough in front to half-cover his disfigurement, and sighs. He can't rest, not yet. Mu is waiting for him. He contacted So from a burner phone, told him he'd heard that So was coming, and asked that he meet him as soon as he arrived from Seoul.

Well, So has arrived.

He washes his face, but waits until he has gone back outside to light a cigarette out of courtesy to Baek Ah's home. Jung and Eun are long gone, the rascals.

So turns his mind to other things.

The cigarette is a stub by the time he reaches Mu's. It's a long walk, longer than he remembered. He grinds the ash under his heel and taps three times at the back door.

Ji Mong opens it.

"So!" Ji Mong's face lights up. As ever, he's the only one who's actually glad to see So. Time and trouble never change that. "Come in, come in. Mu's just opening up a bottle of cognac."

Come to think of it, So could use a drink—though he doesn't understand what Mu has against good old-fashioned soju.

He slips off his shoes and pads into Mu's spacious common room. Mu is surrounded by books and ledgers, and his favorite soft rice cakes. These are all familiar things, and something in So's chest aches.

"You look well," Mu greets him, which is a kindly fabrication at best. So looks like shit, and everyone knows it or will know it. He'll take the kindness for now, though. The first visit to his mother and elder full brother will dispel any such pleasantries.

"You didn't tell me he was sick."

"It wasn't mine to tell."

"Or mine to know?" It comes out more bitterly than So means it too. He sits down opposite Mu and reaches for an amber-filled glass. "I'm sorry. I only…"

"No need to apologize," Mu assures him, and Ji Mong bobs his head encouragingly. "Honestly, So, I was asking him for ages, to speak with you. To ask you to return."

"Wae? What possible use could I be?"

Mu and Ji Mong exchange a weighted glance. They are among the only people So trusts, but that doesn't make him any less wary.

"Father will not continue to lead the company," Mu says slowly. "The announcement comes soon, and then…"

"He appoints a successor," So finishes. "You."

Mu clears his throat. "That is his wish, yes."

"But not yours?" So racks his brain. Who else could do it? Not Yo, if they can help it. Wook has never sought such notoriety. Baek Ah is too far removed…

"No," Mu is saying. "Not my wish. I want it to be you."