It starts out different this time.

There’s no fog. No balcony. Just the soft crunch of gravel under my feet, and the quiet rustle of leaves above me. I’m walking along a narrow path, lined with cherry blossom trees. The petals are pale against the night, glowing faintly under the streetlights. Everything smells clean—like fresh air after rain, a little earthy, a little sweet. It feels real. Like I’m actually here.

I’m holding someone’s hand.

His palm is cold, but not in an uncomfortable way. It’s familiar. Comforting. He’s taller than me, with broad shoulders, dressed in a dark suit. I can’t look up at his face—my body won’t move the way I want it to—but I know I’ve felt this before. This sense of safety. Like I’ve done this exact walk before, even though I know I haven’t.

We stop walking. My feet stop with his.

He turns to me. Slowly, I follow, my gaze dragging up. I almost see it. His face. It’s there—faintly familiar—but something in my brain refuses to make the connection. It won’t click. Like the memory is hiding just behind my eyes.

Then he pulls a small velvet box from his pocket.

I know what’s coming. I can feel it before it happens—the flutter in my chest, the breath caught in my throat. He drops to one knee, and I feel a rush of excitement, nerves, something deep and warm and almost painful tug at my ribs.

He opens his mouth. I brace myself.

But the words don’t come.

The box slips from his hands and hits the ground with a dull clatter. The sound is wrong, loud. Like something falling in a silent room. The world shifts—no, it falls away—and suddenly I’m standing on that balcony again.

It’s clearer than before.

The wind is sharp against my skin. The night sky is darker, but the lights from the city below are brighter. I turn. Slowly, and as always, against my will.

She’s there again. The woman in white.

Only now I can see her face. 

Yoo Yuri.

She stares at me with an expression of pure hatred. No, not hatred. It's worst than that. Loathing. She wants me dead. Like in every dream, she reaches toward me.

And then the world fractures again.

The balcony fades. Yuri blurs at the edges, her figure warping, shrinking. A second later, she’s a little girl.

I blink, and I’m… shorter.

Dark bangs fall into my vision and I realize—I’m Ahn Eun-seo now. Probably around age 5 or six, by my height and the fact that I have no recollection of this.

There’s a girl standing in front of me. Her hair is dark and shiny, almost black, her expression thunderous. She looks just a little younger than me. I feel her anger before I understand it. She takes a step forward like she’s about to—

“Ha-rin, honey, where did you go?”

A woman’s voice. Warm. Sweet. Almost too sweet.

We both turn. A young woman walks into view, holding a bag of groceries in her fingers. She’s beautiful—heart-shaped face, soft features, the same thick dark hair the girl has. Her smile is tired, but kind.

The girl—Ha-rin—glances at me one last time, then turns to the woman—probably her mother.

And in the next breath, I’m on the bus. 

On the night of the accident. 

A woman sits in the front row, behind the driver, staring down at her phone. Thick dark hair, heart shaped face. She looks a few years younger than me. Her eyes are glued to her phone, and this time, I pay attention. She's staring at the cover of Unwritten Rules. 

Distantly, I hear a woman's voice,"Ha-rin, honey, where did you go?"

Then, my legs carry me to the back of the bus, where I take a seat and pull up the familiar home page of the WEBB app. Just as it happened the night of the accident, I click on Unwritten Rules. By Jo Ha-rin.

But before in can register, the world goes dark.

My eyes fly open.

My chest is tight, my heart racing, and there’s a cold sweat on my neck. I sit up fast, like I’ve just been jolted awake by something I can’t name. For a second, it feels like my brain is still piecing something together—connecting dots I didn’t know existed. I can almost feel it. Almost—

Ding.

The sound pulls me out of it.

My phone buzzes on my nightstand, screen lighting up the room in a faint blue glow. And just like that, the dream slips through my fingers. All the clarity, all the pieces—it’s like they were never there.

I groan quietly and reach for my phone.

It’s just a notification. A social media app the original Sera used to use before I took over her body, that I barely touch. I was never interested in posting on social media as Ahn Eun-seo, mainly because nothing eventful happened in my life. It kind of became a habit. 

I let my head fall back against the pillow, watching the moonlight filter through the sheer curtains. The electricity in my blood slowly fades, but my body is still shaking uncontrollably. 

After a few minutes of tossing and turning, I give up. There’s no way I’m falling back asleep after that dream—whatever it was. 

I sit up slowly, blanket still tangled around my legs, and glance toward the window. Moonlight seeps in through the sheer curtains, painting soft silver shapes on my floor. I sigh, rubbing at my face. I need a distraction.

So I do what any completely rational person would do at two in the morning: I get up, yank my sheets off the bed, and start tying them together. Again.

Apparently, I didn’t learn from last time. Or maybe I did and just didn’t care. Either way, I toss my makeshift rope out the window and give it a firm tug to test it. Not exactly secure, but it'll hold long enough if I don’t do anything stupid.

Climbing out is easier this time. My body remembers the awkward shuffle, the right angles to shift my weight. The wind’s cool against my skin, carrying the faint scent of wet grass and expensive items. The sheets sway a little under me, but I press my feet against the wall, taking it one knot at a time.

I land with a soft thud on the garden path, knees bending to absorb the impact. No twisted ankles this time—yay me.

The night is quiet. The soft breeze feels cool against my skin, still tingling from the dream. I cross the yard slowly, barefoot against cold grass and push open the side gate. I actually never knew there was a side gate. I just let my feet lead me, and somehow I ended up lucky. It's not locked. 

The streets are empty. The glow from the streetlamps blurs slightly in the distance, and the air smells like honeysuckle and asphalt. For a second, the quiet reminds me too much of the dream—of that pretty park path, of holding someone's hand I couldn’t see. I shake the thought out and continue down the road.

Most of the houses I pass are mansions, much like mine.  I tug at the hem of my nightslip, suddenly hyper-aware of how sheer the fabric is in the moonlight. I should’ve grabbed a robe. Or shoes. Or common sense.

Still, I keep walking. My feet hardly make a sound against the cold concrete, and the breeze nips at my legs like it’s scolding me. I don’t know what I’m looking for, or if I’m even looking for anything at all. 

I walk for around thirty minutes before I realize I’ve completely lost track of where I am. My heart stutters. I slow to a stop and glance around—at the unfamiliar curves of the sidewalk, the ivy-covered fences I don't recognize, the unlit windows staring blankly back at me.

Panic prickles under my skin. I try to retrace my steps, turning corners that feel right but lead nowhere familiar. Everything looks the same—neatly trimmed hedges, white gates, expensive cars parked in driveways. I make another turn and end up in an area I haven’t even seen before.

I should go back. Try to find my way home. But I keep walking anyway, because clearly I make great life decisions.

About ten minutes later, I’m still wandering. The cold is finally starting to sink in, the heat from the dream worn off. My arms are goosebumped, and I keep tugging at the hem of my slip like that’s going to help anything.

Then—finally—I see a car.

Just headlights at first. I can’t make out the color, or the model, or anything really, but it’s the first sign of life since I left the fancy neighborhood. I step onto the road without thinking, waving my arms in the air like a lunatic.

It doesn’t slow down.

And that’s when I panic.

Oh no. Am I about to become one of those K-drama characters who gets hit by a car and has to get a dangerous and expensive surgery?

Sang-hee would kill me.

I try to dart out of the way, but there’s a sudden pop in my ankle and the next thing I know, I’m on the ground.