Chapter 11: One Glove, Then the Other

The key still worked.

Seon-ho let himself in at ten at night with rain running off his hood and his shoes squelching on the iron stair.

The flat was dark.

Tae-hwan sat at the long table in his coat, his back to the window, with his gloved hands folded in front of him.

A cup of tea stood at his elbow, untouched.

He did not look surprised.

"I changed the lock code," he said. "You shouldn't have been able to."

"You changed it to the date of the first gate. I was there."

"That was careless of me."

"I know." Seon-ho pushed back his hood. "Say it to my face."

"Say what?"

"What you said at the hearing. Say it again, looking at me."

Tae-hwan raised his eyes.

For two heartbeats he held the flat, painted look from the hearing room.

Then it cracked.

"I can't," he said.

"Why not?"

"Because it's not true."

"Then why?"

"Because there's something in me that kills people."

The words came out low and fast.

"I know what it does. I don't know why it hasn't killed you."

"I'm not clever. It was the only wall I had."

"It hasn't killed me in twelve days."

"I know."

"It's not going to start tonight."

"You can't know that."

"I can know I'd rather be here than anywhere else," said Seon-ho.

He crossed the room, and he was dripping on the wooden floor, and he did not care.

He stopped in front of the chair.

"Take them off."

"Seon-ho."

"Both. You said one at a time. I'd like both, tonight."

Tae-hwan stared at his own hands.

He turned them over, as if he had never seen the gloves before.

Then, very slowly, he drew off the left glove, and then the right.

He set them side by side on the table.

His palms lay open in the lamplight.

The right was smooth and healthy.

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