MIYOUNG DIDN’T LIKE being home alone, but though Yena insisted on having everything just so, she rarely spent any time in the house. Perhaps she had more of a need for fresh air as a full gumiho. Or maybe she just didn’t like making awkward small talk with her daughter. The other night as they ate a silent dinner together, curiosity had pushed Miyoung to ask, “Mother, what do you do for fun?” “Fun?” Yena had said the word like it was a virus. “Yeah, do you knit? Play games? Read . . .” Miyoung trailed off at the icy glare from her mother. “What a strange question. I honestly don’t know what’s gotten into you,” Yena said. “I think I’m just tired.” And Miyoung had asked to be excused to her room. Maybe that was why Yena had texted saying she wouldn’t

MIYOUNG’S DAYS SLOWLY became routine. She was a fan of order. It ensured that there were no unforeseen variables. If she knew what each day would bring, she could better control her world. However, it felt strange to have a routine while a ticking time bomb sat in her pocket. The yeowu guseul was a heavy reminder that her days were not completely normal. Jihoon, on the other hand, was completely random. He never did anything consistently. He liked to goof off in class or sleep, but never with any rhyme or reason. More often than not, he’d be in the computer lab instead of class because he went there to play games. Jihoon had an odd skill for getting away with doing as little work as possible and staying in the teachers’ good graces. Probably because he had a wickedly boyish face with an equally mischievous grin. It worked well to get him his way. She hardly spoke to

JIHOON SAT IN a hard chair against a faded beige wall. A dozen police officers sat at desks placed in random jigsaw patterns around the room. He’d only been in a police station once before, when his mother had dragged him there to shout at the officer who’d arrested his father. A bad memory compounded by his current discomfort. And the cop currently questioning him wasn’t helping. “So tell me again, how did you break the window?” It was a question Jihoon had answered at least a dozen times already. “A rock.” He kept his answers short. Less chance of getting caught in a lie that way. “Why?” Good question, Jihoon thought. Why had he decided to cover for Miyoung? It wasn’t necessarily because he felt protective of Miyoung. Lord knew she didn’t need someone to take care of her. Perhap

MIYOUNG SLUNK INTO the house, slipping off her shoes, and let her backpack drop from her shoulder in the middle of the room. The clutter would annoy her mother, but she didn’t have the energy to carry everything upstairs right now. She dropped onto the couch, planting her face into the soft pillows. Her eyes burned with tears, and she shoved her face deeper into the pillows to catch them. She shouldn’t have left Jihoon. He liked to do idiotic things, but that didn’t mean she had to let him. He was so infuriating. She punched her fist into the pillows beside her head. She kept remembering the anxious concern on Jihoon’s face as he’d told her to run. It felt odd to think it had been for her. More unsettling was that she’d accepted his help without a second thought. In that moment, when she’d fled, she’d trusted him. M

MIYOUNG WASN’T SURE if she was prepared to go home just yet. A new talisman was nestled in her pocket next to her bead. Two lies she kept from her mother. Lies she didn’t want to think about right now. Jihoon parked behind a short square building. The savory scent of doenjang jjigae permeated the air. It was a simple dish, but no Korean could smell it and not feel comforted. “Where are we?” Miyoung swung off the scooter. Before Jihoon answered, a voice called out. “Have I been replaced, Jihoon-ah?” Jihoon chuckled and called back to the old halmeoni sitting on a wooden platform across the street. “Never, you’ll always be my number one.” “She’s a yeowu.” Jihoon and Miyoung both froze, exchanging shocked looks. “A foxy girl,” the halmeoni sa