gotta end it tonight
to start again

Clink. Clink. Clink.

The tip of my fingernail connected with the rim of the glass in my hands again. The clear liquid inside it rippled, then stilled, and rippled again as I knocked against the side.

I knew I wasn't ever going to drink it, even if I was in the presence of company I considered safe. The memories attached to a simple glass, even if it had been long since I'd left their birthplace, had too strong a hold on me.

Three years.

Three years since I'd left my old life behind.

"Hey, Hwang!"

My eyes flashes to the bartender as soon as he turned his back, scanning the contents of the open under-the-counter cabinets. I almost flinched as someone landed on the seat next to me, but the easy smile that took the place of the earlier frown on my face wasn't hard to fake.

Then why does it feel like I never left?

The dancing lights flashed around us, and I squinted through them to be able to make out the face of the person who had just joined me. The voice had been hard enough to recognize through the mixture of voices, even though my instincts from three years ago hadn't left me.

The plastic smile turned into a real one as soon as I managed to identify who had taken the seat next to me. "Hey," I said by way of greeting, observing the slightly crazed grin on the newcomer's face.

Moving had been like taking on a new identity. After everything I had been through, the criminal persona I had taken over had consumed whatever I had once been made of, and I had no idea who I was supposed to be when I had first moved into my new home.

No name changes, no surgery, but our record had been wiped clean. One would think that a clean slate would mean I had deeper bonds with whoever was left, but the only thing it had brought me closer to was my own self. New life meant nothing more to me than a new place. But the past still felt like a shackle latched on to my ankle, weighing me down like an anchor dragging me behind, threatening to pull me under.

The silence between and my current companion was comfortable, filled in by the music and the various noises of humanity. Over the years, I had grown accustomed to college parties. Despite how wild they were, you could hardly compare them to their underworld counterpart.

My identity had been swallowed whole by the horrific circumstances surrounding my past. All I was now included a criminal, a prosecutor, and a victim all at once, set into a single syllable.

Who was I?

I was a Hwang.

"Birthday girl giving you a hard time again?" I yelled over the loud music, hoping that he'd be able to hear me.

"You have no idea!" Minho groaned, swivelling the barstool to complete a half rotation before he faced me. "Can't you control her? With the amount of booze she's taking in, she'll be speaking in bubbles by tomorrow."

I had met Minho only about two months ago, when we had been introduced to each other at a party similar to this. Despite the short time we had known each other, I had found his company easier to bear than that of people I had known for, say, a year.

This would have normally been followed up by an explanation of why I trusted him despite my deep-rooted issues when it came to faith, but the fact that I didn't trust him sort of threw a bone into that plan.

My only mantra the past few years had been to not trust anyone. It was a fragile thing to lean on, but I knew that my life depended on it. The moment I decided to place my belief in a person who had even the slightest probability of being someone assigned to kill me, I knew I was a dead girl walking.

I smiled dryly, looking away from him and fixing my gaze on the small glass in front of me. Slowly, I set it down on the counter, planting the heels of my boots on the ground. "You mean breathing."

"Yeah, whatever." He brushed aside the long, dark bangs brushing his eyebrows and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the counter's edge. His eyes followed my hands as the left the glass. "You still not drinking?"

Not after being drugged without my permission, no. Probably not ever.

Brash, outspoken, confident and barely legal. That was Lee Minho. That, and something more that set him apart from the people I had refused to let into my circle within such a short time. Maybe it was his own supposed charm, or maybe it was that he reminded me of someone I had once known.

I paused, pulling myself back and focusing on the boy. "I'd rather not."

The sentence had been spoken in a voice low enough for him to miss in the noise polluting the place, but he managed to catch it anyway. Minho raised his eyebrows, reaching over to grab the glass before downing the contents in one go.

"I hope you don't mind!" he yelled as soon as he was done, putting the empty shot glass down on the top hard enough for it to break, but it didn't, bringing a smile to my face. Then his face contorted as the effect of the liquor hit him. "Shit, that's strong. Why'd you keep it if you're not gonna drink it?"

"To keep up pretences," I muttered, sure that he couldn't hear me as I observed the single ring glinting on on his left hand. "Hey, back away," I said, smirking as he leaned forward again, probably to say something. "Chaeyoung's gonna get jealous, and it's her special night after all."

He grinned, but obliged. I was surprised that no one else had joined us at the sidelines. One glance over my shoulder told me that they were probably invested in encouraging people to chug down full bottles under a time limit.

Not very different from Seoul, but then, not the same either. Somewhere along the way, the lines blurred, but as long as I was able to stay away from the action, I was going to be fine.

At least that was what I told myself.

Silver and violet blended into gold as I looked up with hooded eyes. The interior of the roughly octagonal building was flashy in a pretty way, not like the usual bars we visited on our rounds. This was a special night indeed.

Everything seemed to mix in, creating a flowy design that wasn't hard on the eyes. Perfect for a drinker, not so perfect for someone who had been in a strikingly similar bar before.

"I'm gonna go use the washroom," I muttered, not bothering to see if he had heard me before getting up. The crowd consisted of a lot of people, but most of them ringed the area where the drinking game was going on. I shouldered past a few people before I arrived at my destination.

The washroom was a big rectangle for such a small building, the breadth running only slightly shorter than the length. Basins lined the right wall, the side which I had just entered, and a line of bathroom stalls lined the centre, just parallel to them. Another line of stalls ran along the wall perpendicular to the one hosting the sinks.

On a normal night, the washroom would've been infested with couples—and non-couples—making out. This time, however, it was suspiciously empty, with not even a single person in sight, despite the inviting sign decorating the entrance that declared it to be gender-neutral.

Calm down, I told myself, straightening as I forced myself to enter the washroom. It's a toilet, not a kill zone.

The events of three years ago, even though they had spanned a time period of only about a month, had ended up burning a traumatized personality into my brain. Well, the situation wasn't too bad in the sense that I was no longer forced to carry around a pocketknife.

At the thought of the weapon, something in my chest twisted longingly. Ignoring the instinct to pat down the pockets of my jeans, I entered a stall, glancing around the spacious area, a little surprised to see the tiles shining a spotless white.

Is this out of order or something?

I turned to check if I had missed a board hanging from the side, but it was empty. Allowing a small frown to crease my forehead, I stepped into the stall directly facing the door, unable to help my heartbeat which raced in fear.

The entire washroom was empty except for me, and completely silent. Not even the sound of dripping water broke through the silence, and my paranoia took over in the matter of a few short seconds.

The heavy noises from outside had been drowned out, and the only reminder of the place was the bass vibrating the floor. I was alone. With no protection, no weapon, and no person to defend me.

Calm down, my mind hissed back. There's a party outside. You can call for help easily, it's not like anyone can touch you.

I took a deep breath, leaning back in my seat and trying to slow down my pulse before getting up. Just as I got to my feet, footsteps sounded on the floor a few feet away, and my heart jumped with relief. There was someone else in the washroom with me. I wasn't alone.

The footfalls were irregular, the shoes squeaking slightly against the clean floor. The person who had just entered was dragging their steps, which told me that they were probably intoxicated, but only slightly—just enough for them to feel more tired rather than senseless. No stilettos. No boots.

My elbow hit against the side of the door as I tried to get out, but I held in my wince. The stall I had been in was at a ninety-degree angle to the row of washbasins, and I stepped towards one, discreetly glancing to the side to look over the person who had just joined me.

A boy with dark hair stood leaning against the wall separating two stalls lining the centre of the room. His face was angled away from me, and he held something small and thin in one of his hands, using the tip to trace the outline of his fingernails.

I rolled my eyes, somehow missing the fact that the thing had been too broad for a toothpick. It was when I was about to continue washing my hands that something caught my eye.

On the floor, right in front of the stall I had just come out of, lay my keys. I frowned, not having noticed them falling out of my jacket's pocket, and stepped towards them, bending to pick them up.

My hand was still in my pocket as I get up and turned around, intending to go towards the dryer, when the boy finally entered my peripheral vision.

Minho stood upright a few feet before me, the stealth with which he had moved enabling him to position himself in front of the entrance without me realizing. I blinked, a little confused, but shifted my leg behind me to steady myself just as he flashed me a wide, inviting smile.

The other boy was nowhere to be seen.

My eyes flickered to his hand, every other sound drowning out as my eyes traced the delicate butterfly carved into his ring.

The metal gleamed as he raised his hand, the one which was holding the object he had earlier used to pick his fingernails. A small but sturdy throwing knife, the handle larger than the blade to allow better propulsion. The top of his dark hair looked almost like gold under the effect of the harsh lights.

And I thought, not again.

"They said you would be harder to corner alone, considering your well-placed anxiety when it comes to being left to your own means," he said, smile tilting sideways as he cocked his head to the side, obviously enjoying himself, "but here you are—ready to be found and killed."

──────

aaand welcome back to the world of Rush!

i'm really glad to see you guys here, and i really hope you read all the warning because Hunt is a THOUSAND times darker and messier. a little easier to understand though.

if you read Rush when i was writing, WASSUP. and if you read it after it was completed, WASSUP again. i hope you enjoy this book just as much as the other <3

theories? hopes? expectations?

see you soon in the next chapter!

love,
Manx.