The familiar smell of home—soy soup, detergent, and faintly burnt toast—hit me the moment I opened the door. After the trip through fog, ruins, and madness, the sound of So-mi's complaining was practically divine.
I sighed and walked in. Maybe I forgot my shoes?. Didn't matter.
"You're back!" she yelled from the living room without looking up from her phone. "Mom said you're washing the dishes tonight!"
"I almost died, you know," I muttered, dropping my duffel bag by the shoe rack.
"You almost die every time you go to work," she said cheerfully. "You're still doing the dishes."
Mrs. Han peeked from the kitchen, apron already dusted with flour. "Eat first. You look pale."
"Thanks, Mom."
She ladled soup into a bowl, pushing it across the counter before I could protest. "You need meat. Not just coffee and lies."
"I tell the truth professionally," I said. "Mostly."
So-mi snorted. "The only truth you tell is that you never have money."
"Which is true," I replied.
She stuck her tongue out. It felt good—arguing over nonsense.
After dinner, I finally opened my duffel bag in my room. Papers, notes, one cracked phone, and—oh right—the lantern.
It was small, metal framed, the glass scratched but intact. The wick inside was already burned out. I must have grabbed it while packing up the ruins; maybe as a souvenir, maybe out of habit. It looked old, harmless, ordinary.
I placed it on my desk beside a stack of case files. "You survived more than I did," I said to no one, stretching my back. "Welcome home."
The lantern sat there silently, collecting dust like everything else in my apartment.
Later that evening, my phone buzzed.
[Ha-eun ]: How are you holding up?
[Me]: Barely.
[Ha-eun ]: You say that every week. Want coffee tomorrow?
[Me]: If I'm not buried under reports, yes.
[Ha-eun ]: Bring something sweet. You still owe me from last time.
[Me]: Debt acknowledged.
Her typing bubbles appeared, disappeared, then:
[Ha-eun ]: Goodnight, detective.
I smiled. "Goodnight," I whispered back to the screen, even though she couldn't hear me.
Around nine, Ji-yoon called from the base. "Heard you came back in one piece."
"Mostly. You still pretending to be a model soldier?"
"Someone has to make Mom proud," he said, laughing. "Stay out of trouble, little brother."
"Trouble finds me," I said.
"Then at least make it interesting."
The line cut, leaving static for a second before silence returned. I leaned back, feeling that rare calm of ordinary life: bills on the counter, sister yelling about drama shows, the faint hum of the fridge.
When night deepened, I sat at my desk, flipping through reports under the soft desk lamp. The lantern caught the light, its glass glinting faintly. Nothing strange—just the reflection of my face, tired and human.
I touched the metal frame. Cold. Solid. Normal.
Maybe that was what I needed—something normal. Something that didn't whisper secrets or show me paths of truth.
Outside, So-mi was laughing at a variety show. Mom was washing dishes despite saying she wouldn't. For a fleeting moment, I believed I could hold on to this quiet.
When I finally switched off the desk lamp, the room dimmed. The lantern's surface caught the moonlight from the window, glowing softly for half a second before the darkness swallowed it again.
I didn't notice. I was already half asleep.