The smell reached Ji-yoo before the food did.
It drifted through the living room like a ghost — rich, layered, impossibly complex. Sautéed garlic and caramelized onions. The deep, savory aroma of a proper reduction. Something herbal underneath it, something bright and green that cut through the heaviness and made Ji-yoo's empty stomach clench with a desperation that had nothing to do with hunger and everything to do with the fact that she had not eaten real food in weeks.
She was lying on the couch, propped up on three pillows, her ribs screaming every time she breathed too deeply. But the smell was so good that she almost forgot about the pain.
Almost.
"What is that?" — Ji-yoo, voice dripping with glee
No answer from the kitchen. Just the sound of a knife against a cutting board — rhythmic, precise, the sound of someone who knew exactly what they were doing.
Ji-yoo looked at Alessia.
Alessia was sitting in the armchair across from the couch. She had not moved since the confrontation ended. Her long indigo ponytail was still slightly disheveled, and her blue eyes were fixed on a point on the far wall with the kind of intensity that suggested she was not looking at the wall at all but at something inside her own head. Her arms were crossed over her chest. Her jaw was tight.
She looked beautiful and furious at the same time.
"She can really cook." — Ji-yoo, bright despite the pain
No response from Alessia.
"I mean, the smell alone is making me consider renouncing my current diet of canned beans and regret." — Ji-yoo, grinning despite her cracked ribs
Still nothing.
"Are you going to sulk in that chair all evening?" — Ji-yoo, voice dripping with glee
Alessia's eyes shifted to Ji-yoo. One degree. Maybe two. The kind of look that communicated exactly how little she appreciated the question without requiring a single word.
"I'm just saying, that starving yourself out of spite is not a valid medical strategy. You're a doctor. You should know that." — Ji-yoo, gesturing dramatically despite the pain
"I'm not starving myself out of spite." — Alessia, voice thin but steady
"You haven't moved in forty minutes." — Ji-yoo, running on spite and painkillers
"I'm resting." — Alessia, barely a whisper
"You're brooding." — Ji-yoo, gasping between laughs
"Those are not mutually exclusive." — Alessia, wiping sweat from her temple
Ji-yoo grinned. Even through the pain, even through the exhaustion, the grin came easy. She loved her brother. She loved him more than anyone else on the planet. But watching him navigate the minefield he had created for himself was, objectively, the most entertaining thing that had happened since the world froze over.
"Think about it from his perspective. He met a woman yesterday. She was starving. Alone. He offered her shelter. Things happened. He didn't know — couldn't have known — that she was your cousin." — Ji-yoo, holding court from the couch
Her voice shifted from teasing to something more thoughtful.
Alessia uncrossed her arms. Stood up. Walked to the window. Stood there with her back to Ji-yoo, staring out at the frozen landscape of Forbes Park without seeing any of it.
Her long indigo ponytail hung down her back. Her shoulders were rigid.
"It's not about the sex." — Alessia, wiping sweat from her temple
"It's not?" — Ji-yoo, grinning
"It's about where it happened. He brought me here. To the same room. The same couch. The same mansion where he—" She stopped. Drew a breath. "I walked in and my cousin opened the door. The cousin I haven't seen in years. The cousin the family threw out. And I had to find out she was here by looking at her face." — Alessia, explaining with forced clinical calm
Her voice was low, controlled, but there was a crack underneath it.
Ji-yoo was quiet for a moment.
"That is pretty brutal." — Ji-yoo, bright despite the pain
"It's beyond brutal. It's — Jae-min has no idea what he's done. He doesn't know the history. He doesn't know what the Santos family did to her. He doesn't know what it means for me to see her standing in that doorway. And neither does she. Hua doesn't know I'm his — that there's anything between me and Jae-min. She just met him yesterday. For all she knows, he's just some guy with a snowmobile." — Alessia, raw and unguarded
She turned from the window. Her blue eyes were bright.
"So she wasn't hiding it from you." — Ji-yoo, running on spite and painkillers
"No. She didn't know." — Alessia, voice thin
Ji-yoo let that settle.
"Well. That changes things." — Ji-yoo, a grin hiding the wince
"Does it?" — Alessia, fingers trembling slightly
"It means neither of them did this on purpose. He didn't know she was your cousin, and she didn't know you were coming. It's just... cosmically bad timing." — Ji-yoo, delighted in a way that was almost cruel
Alessia opened her mouth.
Closed it.
"I hate it when you're reasonable." — Alessia, voice cracking at the edges
"I know. It's one of my best qualities." — Ji-yoo, laughing and immediately regretting it
...
The kitchen door opened.
Hua stepped into the living room carrying a large wooden tray. The smell that came with her was almost overwhelming — warm, rich, the kind of aroma that belonged in a five-star restaurant and had no business existing in a world where the average meal was a cold can of kidney beans eaten with fingers.
She set the tray on the coffee table, then paused. Looked at the couch. Looked at the armchair. Looked at the large archway leading to the dining room, where a long mahogany table sat beneath a crystal chandelier — set for twelve, with cloth napkins and silverware that belonged to a dead man.
"Actually. Can you walk?" — Hua, chin raised
Ji-yoo blinked.
"What?" — Ji-yoo, grinning through the pain
"The dining table. You should eat at the dining table. Not on a couch like a college student." — Hua, laying it out with chef's efficiency
Ji-yoo looked at Alessia. Alessia looked at Ji-yoo. Neither of them moved.
The walk from the couch to the dining room was maybe ten meters. Before the Freeze, Ji-yoo could have crossed that distance in four seconds. Now, with her ribs in their current state, it felt like ten kilometers.
"I'll manage." — Ji-yoo, gasping between laughs
"If you fall, I'm catching you. I didn't cook all this just to have you eat it while lying down. That's an insult to the food." — Hua, laying it out with chef's efficiency
She picked up the tray again and headed toward the dining room.
Alessia stood from the armchair. Walked to the couch. Offered Ji-yoo her hand.
Ji-yoo looked up at her.
"Really?" — Ji-yoo, grinning
"Get up before she comes back and carries you herself. I'm not explaining to Jae-min how his sister got dropped on the marble floor by his—" — Alessia, gentle but immovable
She stopped. The word she had been about to use hung in the air.
She let it go.
Ji-yoo took her hand. Alessia pulled her up, slowly, carefully, one arm hooking under Ji-yoo's good side while Ji-yoo gritted her teeth against the screaming protest from her ribs. Together, they made their way across the living room and into the dining room.
The table was beautiful. Mahogany, probably antique, the kind of furniture that cost more than most cars. The crystal chandelier above it was dark — no power to the lights — but the emergency generators kept the rest of the mansion warm, and there were battery-powered lanterns placed along the center of the table, casting a soft, warm glow.
Hua was already setting the table. Three plates. Three sets of utensils. Three glasses of water. She moved with the easy, practiced grace of someone who had spent years in professional kitchens — arranging, adjusting, making sure everything was exactly where it needed to be before the food arrived.
Ji-yoo lowered herself into a chair with extreme care. It was a proper dining chair — padded, upholstered in dark leather — and it was a thousand times more comfortable than the couch. She could sit upright. She could reach the table. She could eat like a human being.
Alessia sat across from her.
Hua returned to the kitchen and came back a moment later with three plates.
On each plate: a perfectly seared piece of pork belly, the skin crispy and golden, the meat underneath tender and glistening with its own rendered fat. Beside it, a mound of garlic fried rice studded with scallions and a single fried egg on top, the yolk still runny, the edges lacy and brown. A small mountain of pickled vegetables on the side — papaya atchara, sharp and bright and tangy, cutting through the richness of the pork.
Simple food. Filipino comfort food. The kind of meal that a grandmother would make on a Sunday afternoon, except executed with the precision and technique of someone who had trained in the best kitchens in Asia.
Ji-yoo stared at her plate.
"Where did you get fresh pork belly?" — Ji-yoo, voice dripping with glee
"Freezer. The original owner's freezer was industrial-grade. Still running on the backup generators. That man had enough meat in there to feed a small army." — Hua, laying it out with chef's efficiency
"The rice?" — Ji-yoo, grinning
"Dried rice in the pantry. Gas range in the kitchen — propane tanks, not connected to the grid. The original owner thought of everything." — Hua, laying it out with chef's efficiency
"And the pickled vegetables?" — Ji-yoo, unable to contain herself
"I made those. Papaya from the greenhouse — underground, level three. The heating system down there is still functional. There's actually quite a lot growing. Tomatoes, peppers, some herbs." — Hua, laying it out with chef's efficiency
Hua set down the last plate and stepped back. She did not sit. She stood at the end of the table with her arms folded loosely, her long crimson hair falling past her shoulders, watching them.
"Eat." — Hua, no hesitation
Ji-yoo picked up her fork. Her hands were trembling — from hunger, not emotion. She had not eaten a proper meal in weeks.
She took a bite of the pork belly.
The skin crackled between her teeth, shattering into fragments of golden, salty perfection. The fat underneath melted on her tongue — rich, unctuous, carrying the deep caramelized sweetness of a slow braise. The meat was tender enough to cut with the edge of the fork, each fiber saturated with soy and garlic and star anise.
She closed her eyes.
"Oh my god." — Ji-yoo, bright despite the pain
Hua said nothing. But the faintest trace of a smile appeared at the corner of her mouth — the professional pride of a chef whose food had landed the way it was supposed to.
Alessia had not picked up her fork. She was sitting across from Ji-yoo, her hands flat on the table, her blue eyes fixed on the plate in front of her.
"Eat, Alessia." — Ji-yoo, not even opening her eyes
"I'm not—" — Alessia, barely a whisper
"You haven't eaten in two days. Your blood sugar is probably in the basement. If you pass out from hypoglycemia, I am not catching you. My ribs won't allow it." — Ji-yoo, laughing and immediately regretting it
Alessia looked at her plate. Then at Hua, who was standing at the end of the table, still and silent, her face carefully neutral.
The silence stretched.
Then Alessia picked up her fork.
The first bite was mechanical — her jaw moving, her expression unchanged, her blue eyes fixed on some middle distance. The second bite was slower. The third bite was slower still.
Ji-yoo watched her out of the corner of her eye. She saw the exact moment the food registered — the tiny flicker of surprise that crossed Alessia's face before she smoothed it away, the almost imperceptible relaxation of her shoulders.
It was incredible food. Objectively, undeniably incredible. Even Alessia — who was furious, who was hurt, who had every reason to hate everything about this situation — could not pretend otherwise.
"This is really good. This is the best thing I've eaten in weeks." — Ji-yoo, voice warm with dark humor
"It's just pork belly and rice." — Hua, fierce and unyielding
"There is no 'just' about this." — Ji-yoo, grinning despite her cracked ribs
Ji-yoo polished off her plate in under five minutes. She set the fork down, leaned back in the dining chair — carefully, wincing — and let out a long, satisfied breath.
"I need seconds." — Ji-yoo, bright despite the pain
"You need to rest." — Alessia, gentle despite everything
"I need both." — Ji-yoo, impossible to shut up
Hua picked up Ji-yoo's empty plate and headed back to the kitchen. She moved with that same easy grace — the kind of movement that came from years of navigating tight kitchen spaces at high speed, always in motion, never in the way.
The kitchen door swung shut behind her.
Alessia and Ji-yoo were alone.
For about three seconds.
Then Ji-yoo turned her head and looked at Alessia with an expression of such naked, delighted mischief that Alessia immediately held up a hand.
"Don't." — Alessia, too tired for more
"I didn't say anything." — Ji-yoo, impossible to shut up
"You're about to. I can see it on your face." — Alessia, wiping sweat from her temple
Ji-yoo's mouth twitched.
"So." — Ji-yoo, gasping between laughs
"No." — Alessia, voice hollow
"You didn't even let me—" — Ji-yoo, wincing through a smile
"I know what you're going to say." — Alessia, exhaustion heavy in every syllable
"I was just going to ask if you wanted more water." — Ji-yoo, laughing and immediately regretting it
Ji-yoo held up her empty glass with her uninjured hand, her face the picture of innocent helpfulness.
It was not convincing.
"I hate you." — Alessia, the last of her strength
"You love me. I'm the only person in this frozen wasteland who can make you laugh." — Ji-yoo, the humor draining from her face
"You haven't made me laugh." — Alessia, sagging slightly but not breaking
"Not yet. Give me time. My ribs are still healing. Once I'm back at full strength, the comedy will be relentless." — Ji-yoo, attempting authority through broken ribs
Alessia shook her head slowly. But the corner of her mouth twitched — just barely, just for a moment — before she caught it and suppressed it.
Ji-yoo saw it.
She filed it away for later.
The kitchen door opened again. Hua emerged with a fresh plate — another serving of pork belly, rice, fried egg, and pickled vegetables — and set it down in front of Ji-yoo.
"You are an angel." — Ji-yoo, bright despite the pain
"I'm a chef. Angels don't sear pork belly." — Hua, fiery despite the exhaustion
"Same thing." — Ji-yoo, from the couch
Hua looked at Alessia's plate. Alessia had eaten about half. The fork was resting on the edge, but she had stopped.
"Can I get you anything else?" — Hua, chin raised
Her voice was careful. Polite. The voice of someone trying very hard to maintain professional distance in a situation that was deeply personal.
Alessia looked at her.
For a long moment, neither spoke. The air between them was thick with everything from the living room — the old wounds, the unison sentences, the rawness of seeing each other for the first time in years.
"No. I'm fine." — Alessia, gentle despite everything
Hua nodded. Turned. Walked back to the kitchen.
The door swung shut behind her.
Ji-yoo exhaled.
"That was painful." — Ji-yoo, impossible to shut up
"Shut up and eat your food." — Alessia, medical authority cutting through fatigue
...
Jae-min came up from the underground levels forty minutes later.
He emerged from the basement stairs looking like a man who had seen a lot in a short amount of time. His face was its usual calm mask, but there was something in his eyes — a sharpness, an alertness, the look of someone whose mental map of the world had just been significantly expanded.
He stopped in the hallway when he smelled the food.
The dining room. Right. The mansion had a dining room. A real one, with a table that could seat twelve and lanterns that cast warm light across dark wood.
He walked to the archway and looked inside.
Ji-yoo was at the table, propped up in a padded dining chair, working through a second plate of something that looked and smelled incredible. Alessia was across from her, her plate empty, her arms crossed, her expression its usual blend of elegance and irritation.
Hua was not in the room.
"Where's—" — Jae-min, one word
"Kitchen. She's been in there since she served us. Cooking more food, I think. Or possibly hiding. Could be both." — Ji-yoo, gesturing dramatically despite the pain
Ji-yoo did not look up from her plate.
Jae-min walked to the kitchen door. Opened it.
Hua was standing at the counter, her back to him, her long crimson hair pulled over one shoulder. She was chopping vegetables — carrots, celery, onions — with the same rhythmic, precise motion that had filled the living room earlier.
She did not turn around.
"They ate?" — Hua, challenging
"All of it." — Jae-min, no hesitation
He leaned against the doorframe.
"Good." — Hua, no hesitation
The knife kept moving. Thock. Thock. Thock. Each cut identical to the last.
"The underground levels. You should see them. The greenhouse alone is worth the trip. Tomatoes, peppers, herbs — actual living plants. Level three has a full hydroponic setup. The water filtration runs off the backup generators, which are diesel. Enough fuel for six months, maybe more if we conserve." — Jae-min, cold as the freeze outside
Hua did not turn around.
"That's good." — Hua, fierce
"Level one is storage and maintenance. Tools, spare parts, construction material. Enough to fortify the entire ground floor if we need to." — Jae-min, laying out the facts without inflection
"Good." — Hua, no hesitation
"Level two is..." — Jae-min, without inflection
He paused.
The knife stopped.
"What?" — Hua, sharp and direct
She turned around.
Jae-min met her eyes. His expression was flat, but there was something underneath it — something heavy.
"Level two is the reason this mansion was worth taking. And it's not something I want to discuss right now. Not with your cousin in the next room." — Jae-min, laying out the facts without inflection
Hua studied his face. Whatever she saw made her set down the knife.
"That bad?" — Hua, one eyebrow raised
"We'll go through it together when everyone is here." — Jae-min, something flickering behind his eyes
She nodded slowly. Picked the knife back up. Turned to the cutting board.
"You should eat. There's rice and pork belly on the stove. Keep it warm." — Hua, fierce and unyielding
"I'll eat after I go back for the others." — Jae-min, not looking at anyone
"You're going back now? It's dark outside." — Hua, fiery despite the exhaustion
"The snowmobile has headlights. And the longer we stay in that bunker, the more fuel we burn. I need to move the others here tonight." — Jae-min, voice carrying the weight of corpses
Hua's hand stilled on the knife.
"The others." — Hua, fierce
"Three more. You'll meet them when they arrive." — Jae-min, jaw tight
"Will they be as... surprised... as Alessia was?" — Hua, sharp and direct
Jae-min almost smiled. Almost.
"Probably not in the same way. But yes. There will be reactions." — Jae-min, staring ahead
Hua turned back to the cutting board. The knife resumed its rhythm.
"Then I'll have more food ready. How many total?" — Hua, chin raised
"Six. Plus me. Plus you. Nine." — Jae-min, no warmth in his voice
"Nine people. That's a lot of mouths." — Hua, not a hint of apology
"It's a big mansion." — Jae-min, voice flat
"It's a big kitchen. I can handle it." — Hua, pride burning through fatigue
Jae-min watched her for another moment. The way her crimson hair caught the warm kitchen light. The set of her jaw. The steadiness of her hands.
"Thank you." — Jae-min, expressionless
She did not turn around.
"Survive. I'll be here." — Hua, bold
...
He walked back through the dining room on his way to the front door.
Ji-yoo was scraping the last of the rice from her second plate, looking profoundly satisfied despite the fact that she was still pale and bruised and clearly in pain.
Alessia was across from her, her empty plate pushed slightly to the side, her hands folded on the table. She had been quiet for the past ten minutes — not brooding, not sulking, just... thinking. Processing.
"I'm going back. Uncle, Yue, and Jennifer. I'll be back in an hour." — Jae-min, quiet certainty
Alessia looked up.
"Be careful." — Alessia, barely a whisper
Her voice was flat. Controlled. But there was something underneath it — something that sounded, if Jae-min listened carefully, like the beginning of forgiveness. Not complete. Not yet. But the beginning.
He looked at Ji-yoo.
"Try not to antagonize anyone while I'm gone." — Jae-min, expression unreadable
"No promises." — Ji-yoo, from the couch
"Ji-yoo." — Jae-min, not looking up
"What? I'm physically incapable of antagonizing anyone. I'm an angel. A healing angel with broken ribs." — Ji-yoo, the humor draining from her face
"You're the opposite of an angel. You're a gremlin with a ponytail." — Jae-min, no warmth in his voice
"I'm your gremlin with a ponytail. Show some respect." — Ji-yoo, from her prone position on the couch
Alessia closed her eyes. Not because she was tired — although she was — but because thirty seconds of this was more exhausting than six hours of surgery.
He pulled on his balaclava, his goggles, his gloves. Opened the front door. The cold rushed in — minus sixty-eight, the permanent seventy asserting itself again.
He stepped out into the frozen dark of Forbes Park, climbed onto the snowmobile, and started the engine.
Behind him, in the warm light of the Peacock mansion, he could see silhouettes in the windows. Two in the dining room. One in the kitchen.
Three women. One mansion.
He revved the engine once and drove into the night.