The key burned against my thigh through my apron pocket as I kneaded the morning's dough. Three weeks since we'd taken control of Moon & Son, and still no time to investigate Claire's Paris address. Every time my fingers brushed the brass key, Jeong's mist coiled tighter around my wrists—a silent warning.
Dae-ho noticed first. "You're overworking the dough," he said, poking the stiff ball of hotteok batter.
I flexed my aching fingers. "Distracted."
Taehyun looked up from inventory spreadsheets, flour dusting his eyebrows. "The box."
Not a question.
The Midnight Investigation
We gathered in the bakery's storage room after closing—Taehyun, Dae-ho, and me, with Jeong's mist sealing the cracks under the door. The silver box from Claire's ledger sat between us, its fox engravings gleaming under the single bare bulb.
"Last chance to chicken out," Dae-ho said, drumming his chopsticks on a sack of rice flour.
The latch gave with a snick. Inside:
A 1973 train ticket (Seoul to Busan, not Paris)
A dried sprig of lavender tied with black thread
A microfilm canister labeled L.S. #5
Taehyun paled. "That's—"
Jeong's mist screamed in my ears, the first sound he'd ever made that wasn't a whisper. The lightbulb shattered.
The Memory Bread
Grandfather found us huddled over the microfilm viewer at 3 AM. The images showed Seong-ho and Claire in a lab, feeding glowing bread to smiling volunteers. The last frame froze on a loaf oozing black liquid, its eater convulsing.
"Project Lazarus," Grandfather rasped. "They tried to preserve memories in yeast." His knuckles whitened on his cane. "Sunyang funded it... until the poisonings."
Dae-ho pointed to a shadowy figure in the corner. "Is that—?"
Young Chairman Kang, holding a clipboard, his face grim.
Taehyun's breath hitched. "The victims got sick exactly like I did."
Jeong's mist formed a new shape—a fox with its mouth stitched shut.
The Warning
The next morning, a package arrived with no return address:
A vial of iridescent powder (identical to the Lazarus Strain)
A note: "Leave the past buried. Or you'll end like your uncle."
Taehyun snatched it before I could touch it. "We stop now. Or—"
"Or what?" I grabbed his wrist. "You knew about this?"
His silence was answer enough.
The Decision
That night, I tucked the key back into my pocket. Paris could wait. But as I turned off the kitchen lights, Jeong's mist spelled one word on the flour-dusted counter:
SOON.