The call came in the afternoon.
Not urgent.Not aggressive.
Which made it worse.
Ha-rin was sitting at the table, sorting through papers she didn't need to sort, when her phone lit up. She glanced at the screen once.
Didn't answer.
"…It's them," she said.
"Yes," I replied.
"…They're calling instead of messaging."
"That suggests escalation."
She stared at the phone for a few seconds longer, then picked it up.
"…Hello."
Her voice was even. Professional.
I didn't listen closely. I didn't need to. Her posture told me enough—straight back, shoulders still, one hand resting flat on the table like she was grounding herself.
"Yes… I understand."
Pause.
"…No, I'm feeling fine."
Another pause.
"…I appreciate the concern."
Her fingers curled slightly.
"…Yes. I've been thinking about that."
She glanced toward me.
Just once.
"…I see."
The call ended.
She set the phone down slowly.
Didn't look at it again.
"…They want clarity," she said.
"Yes."
"…Not an answer," she continued. "…A date."
"That is a deadline."
She nodded.
"…They said it kindly," she added. "…Like they were doing me a favor."
"That is typical."
"…They said fans need reassurance."
"Yes."
"…They said uncertainty creates rumors."
"That is also true."
She leaned back in her chair, staring at the ceiling.
"…They gave me two weeks."
"That is not generous," I said. "It is calculated."
"…Enough time to think," she murmured. "…Not enough to disappear."
"Yes."
Silence followed.
Not heavy.
Measured.
Her hand moved to her stomach, slower than before. She rested it there and didn't move it away.
"…Two weeks," she said again. "…To decide how honest I'm allowed to be."
"That is one interpretation."
"…What's the other."
"To decide what you are willing to lose," I replied.
She closed her eyes briefly.
"…That's unfair."
"Yes."
"…They know that."
"Yes."
She exhaled slowly, then opened her eyes.
"…I hate ultimatums."
"Most people do," I said. "They are designed to reduce choice."
"…And I don't want to be reduced."
"Then do not comply," I replied.
"…It's not that simple."
"No," I agreed. "But it is that clear."
She looked down at her hand.
At the quiet certainty there.
"…I don't regret anything," she said softly.
"That matters."
"…But I'm tired of pretending I can outrun this."
"That is also important."
She straightened, resolve flickering but not fully formed.
"…Two weeks," she said. "…I can handle two weeks."
"Yes."
"…After that," she added, "…things change."
"Yes."
The phone stayed where it was.
Unanswered.
Unmoved.
Outside, the world continued speculating.
Inside, the clock had finally been set.