She pulled up to her building, killed the engine, and sat for one long moment in the silence. She’d just brought a wounded stranger and two babies to her home. She hadn’t called the police.
She had no idea what had happened to him, who he was running from, or why he was so desperate to avoid hospitals. His hand touched her arm. Emily jumped.
His eyes were open, clearer now, despite the pain etched into every line of his face. «Thank you,» he said again.
And the weight of those two words settled over her like a crown she never asked to wear. Emily nodded and stepped out into the rain. And so it began.
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Getting him up three flights of stairs nearly killed them both. Emily half carried, half dragged him, pausing every few steps while he fought to stay conscious. Mrs. Adam from 2B opened her door at the commotion, took one look, and closed it again without a word. Emily had never been more grateful for her neighbor’s indifference.
By the time they reached her door, she was shaking. The man was barely breathing. And somewhere behind them, in the night, someone was hunting.
Emily’s studio apartment was a claustrophobic box on the third floor of a building that should have been condemned a decade ago. Peeling wallpaper the color of old coffee stains. A kitchenette barely large enough for one person to turn around in.
A futon that doubled as her couch and bed, the springs shot through years ago. The radiator clanked and hissed, producing more noise than heat. She kicked the door shut behind her and let Kang Dae collapse against the nearest wall.
His weight had nearly broken her on the last flight of stairs. Her shoulders screamed. Her thighs burned. But she couldn’t stop. Not yet.
The babies were still crying, a relentless sound that made her ears ring and her chest tight. Emily set the car seats on the futon. Her hands shaking so badly she fumbled the straps.
Hana’s face was red and blotchy, her tiny fists waving in distress. Jun’s cries were hoarser, exhausted.
«I know. I know. I’m sorry.» Emily’s voice cracked. She had no idea what she was doing with infants. Her clinical rotations had focused on adult care, not pediatrics.
She’d held a baby exactly twice in her life, both times under supervision. A wet, rattling cough jerked her attention back to Kang Dae.
He’d slid down the wall, leaving a dark smear behind him. His head lolled to one side, eyes closed, breathing ragged. The blood had soaked through his entire left side now, spreading across expensive fabric that seemed absurd in her shabby apartment.
The contrast was jarring. He looked like he’d been pulled from a completely different world and dropped into hers, broken and bleeding. Emily’s training kicked in, overriding the panic.
She grabbed the plastic storage bin from under her futon, the one labeled «Medical» in faded sharpie. Bandages, gauze, alcohol, tweezers, surgical thread she’d stolen from the university supply closet before dropping out. A half-empty bottle of vodka that lived in her freezer for nights when the loneliness got too heavy.
She spread a sheet on the floor, rolled him onto it, and knelt beside him. Her hands moved with mechanical precision, cutting away the ruined suit jacket. The fabric tore easily under her scissors, revealing the dress shirt beneath.
White silk turned burgundy with blood, she cut that away too. The wound was high on his left shoulder, just below the collarbone. Entry wound. Clean. Small caliber. Probably nine millimeter.
Her fingers probed carefully, feeling for the exit wound. Nothing. Damn it. The bullet was still inside.
Kang Dae’s eyes fluttered open at her touch. Dark and unfocused, pupils blown wide with pain and shock. He said something in Korean, the words thick and slurred.
«I don’t understand.» Emily pressed gauze against the wound, applying pressure. Blood welled between her fingers, hot and sticky. «Stay with me. I need you awake.»
His hands shot up, gripping her wrist with surprising strength. His fingers were cold despite the fever heat radiating from his skin. The touch sent electricity up her arm, sharp and undeniable.
His gaze locked onto hers, suddenly clear and piercing. «Don’t stop.» His accent made the words sound like gravel and silk. «Whatever happens, don’t stop.»
«I won’t.» Emily didn’t know why she made that promise, but the words came out firm. Certain.
She poured vodka over the tweezers, then over the wound. Kang Dae hissed through his teeth, his jaw clenching hard enough to make the muscles in his neck stand out like cables. The intricate tattoos there seemed to writhe in the dim light—dragons and geometric patterns, characters she couldn’t read.
Emily took a breath and pushed the tweezers into the wound. His hand tightened on her wrist, hard enough to bruise. He didn’t scream. He didn’t make a sound beyond a sharp intake of breath.
But his entire body went rigid. Every muscle locked in agony. «Almost there,» she whispered.
Sweat dripped down Emily’s spine despite the cold apartment. Her hand was steady. Two years of med school and a lifetime of watching her mother remain calm during her father’s rages had taught her how to compartmentalize. How to shut down emotion and just do what needed to be done.
The tweezers caught something solid. Emily adjusted her angle. Felt resistance. Pulled.
The bullet came free with a wet sound that made her stomach turn. She dropped it into a bowl with a metallic clink, immediately pressing fresh gauze against the gushing blood. Kang Dae’s grip on her wrist loosened.
His head fell back, breath coming in shallow gasps. For a terrifying moment, Emily thought she’d lost him. Then his chest rose and fell, and she heard the rasp of air in his lungs.
«Stay with me.» She threaded the needle with shaking hands. The surgical sutures were old, probably expired, but they’d have to do. «This is going to hurt.»
She pushed the needle through skin. He flinched but didn’t pull away. Emily worked quickly, her stitches neat despite the tremor in her fingers.
Muscle memory from countless hours in the skills lab kicked in—sewing up practice dummies that didn’t bleed or breathe or grip her wrist like she was the only thing keeping them tethered to the world. Ten stitches. Twelve. Fifteen.
She tied off the last one and sat back on her heels, breathing hard. Blood covered her hands, soaked into her jeans, and splattered across her threadbare tank top. The metallic smell filled the small space, mixing with the vodka and the underlying scent of him: expensive cologne cut with sweat and gunpowder.
Emily bandaged the wound with the last of her clean gauze, wrapping it tight across his shoulder and around his back. Her hands brushed against bare skin. He was burning up. His fever was climbing.
She needed to get fluids in him. Monitor for infection. Watch for signs of shock. But first, the babies.
They’d gone quiet. Not peaceful, but exhausted. That scared Emily more than the crying. She washed her hands in the kitchenette sink, scrubbing away the blood, then turned to the car seats.
Hannah stared up at her with wide, dark eyes. She’d stopped crying, but her little face was still red, her expression one of confused distress. Jun had fallen into an uneasy sleep, his small chest rising and falling rapidly.
Emily had no formula. No bottles. No diapers. «What do I do with you?» she whispered.
A sound made her turn. Kang Dae had pushed himself up to sitting, his back against the wall. His face was gray with pain, but his eyes were alert. Fixed on the babies with an intensity that made Emily’s breath catch.
«Hannah.» His voice was rough. «The girl. Jun is the boy. They need formula. Diapers.»
«I don’t have anything.» Emily heard the edge of panic creeping into her voice. «I can’t just leave you here and…»
«Cabinet. Under the car seats.» He gestured weakly toward the infant carriers. «Emergency supplies.»
Emily blinked. Sure enough, when she looked closer, she saw the storage compartments beneath each seat. She popped them open and found sealed bottles of ready-made formula, a pack of newborn diapers, and even a pacifier.
«You came prepared.»
«I’m always prepared.» Something flickered in his expression. Not quite a smile, but close. It softened the harsh lines of his face, making him look younger. Human.
Emily warmed the bottles in the microwave, testing the temperature on her wrist the way she vaguely remembered from a babysitting job when she was sixteen. She lifted Hannah first, cradling the tiny weight against her chest. The baby latched onto the bottle immediately, sucking with desperate hunger.
«When did they last eat?» Emily asked.
«Seven hours.» Kang Dae’s jaw tightened. «Maybe eight.»
Eight hours. These babies were probably six months old at most. Emily’s chest constricted with something that felt dangerously close to protective rage. What kind of situation would make a man run with his children for eight hours without being able to stop to feed them?
Hannah finished the bottle and immediately fell asleep against Emily’s shoulder, a warm, trusting weight. Emily laid her back in the car seat and picked up Jun. He woke with a startled cry, his small body stiffening.
Emily shushed him softly, offering the bottle. He resisted at first, turning his face away, but hunger won out. He drank more slowly than his sister, his eyes watching Emily with an unnerving awareness.
«They’re beautiful,» Emily said quietly.
«Yes.» Kang Dae’s gaze hadn’t left them.
In the harsh light from the single overhead bulb, Emily could see him clearly for the first time. Strong features. Sharp cheekbones. A mouth that looked like it rarely smiled.
The tattoos on his neck were intricate, clearly expensive work. And his hands, even bloodied and trembling, were elegant. Long fingers, clean nails, despite everything. The kind of hands that could sign death warrants or cradle a newborn with equal capability.
Emily changed both babies, fumbling through the process with shaking hands. Neither of them seemed particularly bothered by her inexperience; they were too exhausted. She settled them back into their car seats, covered them with her only clean blanket, and turned back to Kang Dae.
He was watching her with an expression she couldn’t read.
«You should sleep,» Emily said. «Your body needs to heal.»
«You should run.» He said it matter-of-factly, no emotion in his voice. «Take whatever cash is in my wallet and disappear. This apartment is compromised the moment I give you a name.»
Emily crossed her arms over her chest, suddenly aware of how small her space was. How close he was. How the air between them felt charged with something dangerous.
«Little late for that warning.»
«I’m giving it anyway.» He shifted, wincing as the movement pulled at his stitches. «You don’t know what you’ve brought into your home.»
«Then tell me.» Emily moved closer. Knelt so they were eye-level. «Who shot you? Why were you at that warehouse? And why the hell would someone lock the doors from the outside?»
Kang Dae studied her for a long moment. His gaze dropped to her mouth, then back to her eyes. When he spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper. «What’s your phone number?»
Emily rattled it off without thinking. He pulled out his phone—cracked screen, but still functioning—and pulled up her QuickDash profile. Her photo stared back at her: Emily Harrison, 5-star rating, 3,000 deliveries completed.
«Who ordered the sushi?» Kang Dae asked.
Emily frowned. «Some corporate account. Big tip. I didn’t really look at the name.»
He showed her the screen. The order details. The timestamp. And then he showed her something else: a cancelled order. Placed and deleted within the same minute. A ghost entry that shouldn’t exist.
«No one ordered the sushi, Emily.» His accent wrapped around her name like smoke. «They hacked your app. Created a fake order to lure a driver to that exact location at that exact time. They needed someone to unlock the loading dock doors from the outside. You weren’t just in the wrong place at the wrong time. You were the key they planned to use to get to me.»
Emily’s blood went cold. «That’s not possible.»
«You’re a nursing student, correct? You work four nights a week for QuickDash. Your route covers the industrial district because no one else wants it. You’re predictable. Reliable.» He locked the phone screen. «And you were perfect for what they needed.»
«What they needed.» Emily’s voice came out flat.
«Which was… to trap me.» Kang Dae leaned his head back against the wall, exhaustion finally catching up to him. «And to make sure there was a civilian witness who could be blamed when they killed me.»
The words hung in the air between them, heavy and choking. Emily stood abruptly, backing away, her mind racing, trying to process everything he was saying.
«Then why didn’t they kill me?»
«Because I killed them first.» He said it casually, like commenting on the weather. «Four men. Waiting in the shadows of that loading dock. They expected me to arrive alone. Wounded from the car crash. Seeking shelter. They didn’t expect me to arrive ten minutes early and clear the building before you got there.»
«You were protecting me.» The realization hit Emily like a physical blow. «You didn’t know me. You’d never seen me before. But you stayed in that alley because you knew I was coming.»
«I owed you a debt.» Kang Dae’s eyes closed. «You were bait. Innocent. That made it my responsibility to ensure you survived.»
Emily thought about the empty guard booth, the unlocked loading dock doors, and the way he’d been positioned against the wall. Gun drawn. Waiting. He hadn’t been hiding; he’d been standing guard.
«Who are you?» she whispered.
He opened his eyes and met her gaze with an intensity that made her feel stripped bare. «Someone who shouldn’t be here. Someone who’s going to get you killed if you let me stay.»
«Then why did you let me bring you here?»
«Because I’m a selfish bastard.» A hint of dark humor touched his mouth. «And because my children needed somewhere safe to sleep.»
Emily looked at the twins, peaceful in their car seats. Looked at this dangerous, wounded man bleeding on her floor. Looked at her hands, still stained with his blood despite washing them twice. She’d made her choice the moment she pressed her hands to his chest and refused to let him die.
«There’s a blanket in the closet,» Emily said quietly. «And the futon folds out.»
«You’re not sleeping on the floor, Emily. Don’t.»
She cut him off. «You’re in no condition to argue. And I’m too tired to care about the consequences right now. Tomorrow we’ll figure this out. Tonight, everyone in this apartment gets to survive.»
Kang Dae studied her for a long moment. Then, impossibly, he smiled. A real smile. Small and crooked and devastating.
«You’re dangerous,» he said.
«Says the man who shoots people in warehouses.»
«Especially for a man who shoots people in warehouses.»
Emily pulled the blanket from her tiny closet and spread it over the extended futon. She helped him to his feet, his weight against her side, his breath warm on her temple. She settled him on the futon, propping pillows behind his back so he could keep his wounded shoulder elevated.
The studio apartment felt even smaller with four people in it. Emily grabbed her own pillow and curled up on the floor between the futon and the babies, a human barrier between the wounded mob boss and his children. She should be terrified. Should be calling the cops. Should be barricading herself in the bathroom.
She should be anywhere but here. Instead, she closed her eyes and listened to the sound of breathing. Four lives. All entangled now. All dependent on choices she’d made in the span of a few heartbeats.