Three days later, the hospital released Chan into Injae’s care, telling him to “take it easy.” Injae gave Chan a pointed look and asked the doctor for something a little more specific. 

Chan pushed out his full lower lip a little as Dr. Pomua said to “lie or sit with back support more than 18 hours a day,” and “absolutely no lifting anything heavier than a cup of water.”

Dr. Pomua looked between Injae and Chan with a curious little head tilt as Injae pointed a triumphant finger at Chan. “Hear that? Don’t even think about asking me to come back to work right away.”

Indignation slithered along the grooves in Chan’s brain. “I wasn’t going to,” he pouted. “I know Hwa and Briggs have at least another week of their shift.”

Dr. Pomua gained their attention with a rap of her pen on her clipboard. She really loved that thing. Strange, when there were at least three other magical and higher-tech options for keeping track of files.

“My prescription of taking it easy needs to last at least two weeks, Mr. Kurozi, or you risk reopening wounds. Especially your bullet-wound.”

Subconsciously, Chan rubbed his chest. Yeah, that one was the worst. And the nightmares… turns out its not easy to forget the experience of being shot. The terror. The helplessness. He shuddered just remembering it.

“So before you leave today, make an appointment at the front to see me again in two to three weeks.”

Her tone left no room for argument, and he nodded meekly. 

In her blue vinyl jacket and sunglasses, Injae escorted Chan out of his room. She’d brought him a set of his own clothes, and while getting into the soft T-shirt and sweatpants, wearing familiar clothes did wonders for him. He almost felt like himself as he took careful step after careful step down the hallway.

They stopped by the front desk and made an appointment as instructed, Injae telling him that she didn’t care about the shift schedule, and that Hwa and Briggs had already agreed to cover for him and Mihn. 

Then they were out of the hospital and across the parking lot and next to Injae’s jet black sports car. Chan eased himself into the passenger seat, the city’s summer air already making him feel sticky. His broken arm was awkward and clunky in its cast. At least it didn’t hurt, not like his tender nose and chest. His entire torso ached every time he breathed in.

He focused on finding a least-painful way to sit as Injae returned the wheelchair to the hospital and climbed into the driver’s seat.

“All right, I think I remember how to get to your house,” Injae said as she coaxed the car to life.

Chan sucked in a breath and whipped his head towards her so fast his neck twinged. His glare turned into a grimace of pain, then.

Injae tutted. “It hasn’t even been five minutes and you’re already hurting yourself. Should I tow you back in there?”

“No,” pouted Chan, rubbing his good palm across the back of his neck. “But, you said I could go to Mihn once I got better.”

Injae leveled a flat, foxy gaze at Chan. “You’re not better, Chan.”

Chan clenched his teeth, took a deep breath through his nose. He couldn’t act like a whiny child. “Please drive me to Mihn’s apartment. The hospital cleared me. I can walk on my own. And I just really want to see her.” His voice cracked on the last word.

The leather seat creaked as Injae sank back against it with a long sigh. “Okay, Channie.”

It was like the weight of the ocean sloughed off Chan’s shoulders. He beamed at Injae.

Injae pulled out of the parking lot. “I’m really sorry those police ambushed you.”

“Oh? Well, it’s not your fault.”

“It is.” Injae sighed. “I called in the poachers’ deaths.”

Chan startled. “What?!” 

Injae nodded grimly. “If someone else found four bodies within Anjeon, the whole reserve would be shut down for the investigation. In keeping everything above-board–in cooperating–” she practically spit the word, “I can keep us running.”

She glanced at him, mouth twisting. “I told the police that you were the primary witness, and I also told them I’d be with you the following day, and that they should come then.” She sighed again. “I wanted to give you a heads-up, and I didn’t. I’m sorry.”

Chan’s head was spinning. “No. Yeah. I get it. It’s fine. I just–it’s fine.” He bit his lip. “What would happen to Mihn if they learned she killed them all?”

Injae hummed, tapping her silver-ringed fingers on the steering wheel. “I don’t know. I’ve seen a lot of laws change, a lot of different sentences for the same crime.” She snorted. “I can’t believe killing those scum of the earth is considered a crime.”

Chan’s mouth went dry. If the police found out Mihn was the killer, would she be thrown in prison? Fined? Dragged through a trial? Suddenly, he felt sick. The thought of fiery Mihn trying to charm a jury? Laughable. The thought of her behind bars brought tears to his eyes.

Lie. They’d just have to lie. Say it was the griffins. Say he still couldn’t remember. Say–  

“I can drop you off, but I’m not coming up with you.” Injae’s silken voice shook Chan out of his spiraling thoughts, and he blinked at his boss. Bright sunlight pinged off her sunglasses. 

It took him a moment to process her words. “Sorry?”

She nodded out the window. They’d stopped, and a tall apartment building towered at the car window. “We’re here, but I’ll wait here until you’re done.” The sports car nosed a big yellow sign that read VISITOR PARKING.

That was fine. Chan didn’t really want an audience when he had no idea how Mihn would receive him, but curiosity made him ask, “Why not?”

Injae barked a quiet laugh and ran her hand through her black locks.  “Mihn told me if she saw my face outside of Anjeon, she’d peel it like a lemon rind.”

Something prickly and warm swirled in Chan’s belly at the thought. Horrified fondness, perhaps. “That’s new,” he managed, only after swallowing. “Towards you, I mean.”

Injae side-eyed him and then shook her head. “Even though she gave your bloody body to me, it unsettled her deeply. She’s just a little resentful towards me right now.”

Chan chewed on that. The last time he and Mihn had properly spoken, Chan had begged to know what was wrong with her, and she had shoved him away, fled instead of confiding in him. She’d been angry, hurt, and as hysterical as Chan had ever seen her.

He couldn’t help but harbor a sickening fear that Mihn was done with him. Yes, Chan believed Injae that Mihn had killed those poachers and carried his unconscious body to safety. But those memories were so hazy and dreamlike. When compared to the sharp memory of Mihn flying away atop a griffin, Injae’s assurances that Mihn was out of her mind with worry simply weren’t potent enough to soothe his own fears.

What would he do, if Mihn refused to see him? Or worse, if she opened the door just to say Chan was an untrustworthy partner and she was going to apply for a new one?   

Well. He was about to find out. 

He swallowed down his fears and worries and exited the car, clutching the card Hanji had given him.

“See you, boss.” He whispered.

Injae gave him a soft smile. “You got this, Channie.”

Eight minutes later, he was standing in front of Mihn’s apartment door. 

He knocked lightly on the door. Waited. Knocked again. “Mihn? It’s me!” he called out.

Still nothing. He shifted on his feet. What if something bad had happened? What if Mihn was injured? 

All the sudden, Chan couldn’t breathe; it felt like his bullet wound re-opened. This was exactly what he’d feared. Mihn, all alone and un-cared for, hurt with no one to help her. With no one even knowing something bad had happened.

He tried the knob. Locked, of course. He pounded on the door frantically.

“Mihn! Mi– ah!”

As soon as Chan’s fist hit the door, pain lanced through his chest. He’d forgotten that even though his right arm was uninjured, it was attached to torn chest and back muscles.

“Mihn,” he called through gritted teeth. He panted, hunched over slightly. “Please open the door!”

When nothing happened, Chan went a different route. One that had always been natural to slip into with Mihn. “Are you really leaving your injured partner out here?” he whined, leaning against the door for support. Wow, it was really hot and airless in this hallway.

He slid a little against the door, trying to shout with his breathless lungs. “I’ve got a hole in my chest, Mihn!” He blinked as stars swam in his vision. “I’m g-getting dizzy,” he said–brattiness gone from his voice, replaced by worry. Shit, that wasn’t good. He slid another inch or so.

“Hanji told me you’re half-shifted,” Chan continued, closing his eyes against the throbbing in his head and the spinning hallway. “I don’t care about that, sweetheart. Just… let me… see you.”

As soon as he whispered the last phrase, the door flew open, and Chan pitched forward straight into a soft chest. It smelled like Mihn, and Chan nearly sobbed in relief. 

"You abosulte idiot!"