His waist ached where he’d been kicked twice. Hong Yeseong—he would pay him back for this, no matter what. Grinding his teeth, Uijae slowly got to his feet. The stuff crunching under his hands and feet felt soft. No, it wasn’t sand.

He bent down and scooped some up. The fine white powder slipped through his fingers like silk, scattering as it fell. Too soft to be sand, but it didn’t cling like ash either.

Then what is this?

Uijae lifted his head to the sky. From the hazy heavens, heavy snow was falling. He reached out his hand. The moment a snowflake landed on his calloused palm—

*…I love you, honey.*

The face and voice of an unfamiliar man flashed through his head and vanished. The man was coughing blood, his stomach pierced through by something like a pipe. Uijae clenched his palm shut in a panic. What the hell was that? He opened his hand again. Another flake landed.

*…I don’t want to die….*