Chapter 256

Siron had expected to lie awake with worry, but he slept deeply through the night. When morning came, an unfounded, buoyant sense that things might be a little better than yesterday lifted him up.

He was stretching briskly after getting out of bed when a knock sounded at the door. Hannah was calling them down for breakfast.

Going downstairs with Baekgyeong, Siron heard a dog barking. The dog that had used Siron’s thigh as a cushion all the way back to Gamti Island from the hotel was now yapping at the two of them as if seeing them for the first time in the morning light.

"Bambi, I told you to be—"

Malcolm scolded sharply, bent to scoop Bambi up—then met Siron’s eyes standing there in front of him. He drew in a short breath without looking away.

"Ha. I was startled seeing a stranger in the middle of my house."

He steadied himself with a hand on the wall, catching his breath lightly.

"Yesterday you were deliberately made up to look ugly?"

Siron nodded slowly.

"Yes, well, something like that."

"I see."

Malcolm stroked Bambi’s head carefully, answering in a voice much lower than usual—unconsciously throttled back so he wouldn’t let his admiration show at Siron’s face.

"What are you doing out there? Breakfast is set."

The warden’s wife called from the dining area beyond the hall. When they walked into the kitchen, the same reaction as before swept through the room once more. Siron gave an awkward smile and sat at the table. Baekgyeong sat beside him and reached for the water first. Hannah’s eyes roved over their faces, taking in every detail.

A full Korean spread was already laid out: kimchi, rolled omelet, spicy pork stir-fry. Seeing it right in front of them made Baekgyeong and Siron a little giddy. It had been too long since they’d had proper Korean food.

Picking up his spoon and chopsticks, Siron glanced at Malcolm Knox and Hannah, who were having a banana instead of breakfast.

"Aren’t you eating?"

"I have an appointment and need to dash soon. He doesn’t eat breakfast. He pours coffee into an empty stomach, so I at least shoved a banana at him."

Hannah watched them eat with a pleased smile, saying nothing. Eating under the wardens’ eyes made Siron feel like he was going to get indigestion. Stuffing food into his mouth, he pointed at the remote on the table.

"Um... may I turn on the TV?"

"Go ahead. As much as you want."

Before falling asleep last night, Siron and Baekgyeong had searched online for the terrorist incident at the Elm Hotel. The armed group that had taken over the hotel—its affiliation unclear at first—was Helso State Police Special Task Force. Hundreds of news items said the terrorist had been shot dead during apprehension, and that eight civilians and police officers had died in the process.

Siron only hoped the dead terrorist wasn’t Isaac, but the incident had happened mere hours ago and there {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} were no specifics anywhere to be found.

Amid talk of a mass shooting, a suicide attempt—speculation of every sort—footage from the scene had spread instantly on video platforms. The videos showed task force members pointing guns at civilians "for identity verification," shoving and knocking down those who didn’t comply and subduing them roughly. On social media, outrage over excessive force boiled over, and in the gap left by sparse official statements, all manner of unverified fake news about the terrorist proliferated.

And now. The TV ran continuous coverage of the previous night’s attack at the Elm Hotel.

The suspect was a white man in late middle age with a plain look. In CCTV stills he wore light athletic wear, a shopper bag stuffed with something in hand, and stared blankly at the hotel front. The camera switched, and he disappeared inside.

His first stop was the kitchen connected to the banquet hall. He took a box from the shopper and set it down in the pantry, then set a second box at the server station—the very place where Siron had briefly worked undercover carrying champagne.

Last, he headed to a guest room. The TV showed a corridor swarming with police, and for a moment the room number he’d checked into flashed: 459. It faced Isaac’s room.

According to the anchor, the boxes contained homemade bombs—enough explosive force to shred a five-ton truck in an instant. One device had been hidden in the pantry; a gas line ran just beyond its wall, raising the risk of a chain-reaction blast. With the VIP reception room on the other side of the server station, authorities leaned toward an attack targeting high-ranking officials.

As soon as the suspect was identified, the police formed an investigative team and launched a full-scale probe. It took less than a day to trace his past and recent movements, and soon they had his motive and background as well.

He was the father of a young man who had been "wrongfully killed" in a violent incident more than a decade ago. The perpetrator had received a lighter sentence than expected and been paroled early; acquaintances said the father had nursed a blazing resentment toward the judiciary and society ever since.

Even the day before the incident, he had posted on social media in despair, condemning the charity ball for ex-convicts’ children as "a hypocritical event that hands perpetrators a free pass." In his room they found hotel schematics, a compact sniper rifle, and notes precisely calculating firing angles.

"Not even twenty-four hours and they’ve already nailed down a motive? I guess that’s how it is with terror cases."

Hannah sounded amazed, like she couldn’t quite believe it. Siron didn’t take it at face value. He couldn’t shake the suspicion that someone unlucky had been used and branded a terrorist.

Isaac still wasn’t picking up Siron’s calls. The silence itself was proof that he’d clashed with Hybris—or rather, with the State Police unit. If he were safe, he wouldn’t have told Siron to run, and he wouldn’t be ignoring his messages.

After a round of coverage on the terror, the topic shifted to same-sex marriage. The U.S. Supreme Court had declined to hear cases challenging bans in Utah, Indiana, Oklahoma, Wisconsin, and Virginia. There was no ruling, but the effect was to allow same-sex marriage, and thousands of applications were pouring in.

"What a nasty bit of news to run first thing. Same-sex marriage—world’s going to hell."

At Malcolm’s grumbling, Hannah glanced at Baekgyeong and Siron. Cautiously, she began in Korean:

"His father was a pastor. Maybe that’s why—he can be more conservative than Mormons sometimes. For the record, I don’t care about that stuff, so don’t mind him."

"Uh? ...Ha-ha, okay."

Siron answered with an awkward laugh. Watching their faces warmly, Hannah said:

"Now you two can marry openly without worrying what anyone thinks. That’s good, right?"

At her sudden remark, Siron swallowed a bite of spicy pork wrong and went into a fit of coughing. He’d at least swallowed in time and didn’t spray food everywhere, but the aftermath had him clutching his stinging nose and hacking for a while.

"What did you say to make him do that?"

The warden asked, and his wife answered with an apologetic face.

"Nothing much. ...Just that they look good together."

"What an outrageous thing to say. Apologize to them at once."

Hannah shot Malcolm a sidelong look, pulled a tissue, and handed it to Siron, switching back to Korean:

"I shouldn’t have meddled. I’m sorry. Please ignore me."

She added with an embarrassed expression. Siron squeezed his bloodshot eyes shut, dabbed the tears away, and gave a strained smile.

"It’s fine. I can see how you’d get that impression."

"What impression. Who else are you planning to marry if not me?"

Baekgyeong chuckled and toyed with Siron’s earlobe.

"Oh my...."

"What are the three of you even talking about? Whatever scheme this is, speak English! Hannah, aren’t you leaving? Want to miss your flight?"

"My goodness, look at me!"

Snapping to, Hannah checked the wall clock and hurried to her feet.

"Make yourselves at home, you two. There’s food in the fridge and pantry—help yourselves."

She threw on a coat, grabbed the car keys, and rushed out. Malcolm, limping, carried her bags to the trunk and came back in, dropped a capsule into the machine, and drew a coffee with a sigh.

"Is your wife going on a long trip?" Siron asked.

Malcolm lifted the espresso and answered:

"No. To see our granddaughter."

"You didn’t send her away because of us?"

"Not at all!"

At Baekgyeong’s question, Malcolm snorted.

"Our daughter is raising three kids on her own. She needs their mother’s help desperately."

At the sudden detour into his personal life, Siron and Baekgyeong fell silent. Malcolm went on with a weary lament:

"What good is it to grow up without a single misstep, get into a fine university, land a job everyone envies. The so-called father of those kids won’t even show his face."

He let out a long sigh and shut his mouth, embarrassed—like he already regretted laying out something so personal to people who might turn into a threat. Baekgyeong changed the subject, uninterested.

"What are the chances your wife mentions us to her daughter?"

"I told her to keep quiet. There won’t be any rumor about seeing you two."

"Did you tell her how we met yesterday?"

Without savoring the espresso, Malcolm tossed it back, grimaced, and smacked his lips.

"I said nothing. There’s no good in my wife knowing the particulars."

Limping to the table, he sank into a chair with a tired sigh.

"I should walk Bambi. Haah, I’m exhausted."

"Is this really the time to stroll a dog? If you mean to help us, start the visitation with Gezar. Please. We’re out of time."

They had no more room to dawdle. Their traces would be all over the hotel CCTV, and finding them among hundreds of clips was only a matter of time.

Malcolm didn’t answer Baekgyeong’s impatient demand.

"Warden Knox. I said we don’t have time."

Malcolm looked from Baekgyeong, who was browbeating him, to the nameless man wearing a worried face. Those two wouldn’t harm him or Bambi. Feeling like a crabby teacher who’d left shivering boys out on the stoop on a brutal winter day, Malcolm nodded.

"Fine. But even if Gezar agrees to a visit, you won’t see him until dawn. Too many eyes on us right now. So don’t wander. Stay inside and behave yourselves."