The Wolf and His Prey

FOURTEEN YEARS AGO

The wind was strong that day.

Salt clung to the air, thick and sharp, the distant roar of waves crashing against the shore filling the silence.

Han Tae-Won exhaled slowly, the cigarette burning between his fingers, the ember glowing dull against the overcast sky.

The beach was nearly empty.

Perfect.

Fewer people to deal with.

Fewer eyes watching as he sat there, staring at nothing, letting the weight of his fucking life settle into his bones.

And then—

"Dad! Look! Another one!"

A tiny voice, high and excited, cut through the wind.

Han didn't turn his head.

Didn't react.

Just took another slow drag of his cigarette, watching the smoke curl into the cold, gray sky.

"Yeah?" he muttered, barely listening.

Little feet pattered against the damp sand, running, kicking up bits of seafoam.

She was always running.

𝘈𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨.

Like some restless little creature that hadn't yet learned how to be still.

Yeijin.

Eight years old.

Tiny, bright, full of energy that he sure as hell didn't have.

Han didn't do soft. Didn't do fatherhood. Didn't do any of this family bullshit.

But his wife had insisted.

"Take her out." she'd said. "She needs to see the world."

"The world is a piece of shit," he'd replied.

That hadn't stopped her from shoving their daughter toward him, saying something about "bonding" and "responsibility" and how "she barely knows you."

𝘠𝘦𝘢𝘩.

And that was the problem, wasn't it?

The kid didn't know him.

𝘋𝘪𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴. 𝘏𝘰𝘸 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘶𝘱 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴. 𝘏𝘰𝘸 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘪𝘵.

Another gust of wind blew past, sending his coat flaring open, ruffling the hem of his worn-out slacks. Han ran a tired hand over his face, rubbing his temple as he squinted at the horizon.

"Run farther" he muttered, barely glancing at her.

She was too close. Too loud. Too alive.

"Go, run. Just come back."

And she did. Like always. Because she listened to him. At least someone in this goddamn world did.

She took off without hesitation, her little blue dress fluttering behind her, her bare feet barely sinking into the wet sand.

Han watched her go.

Watched the tiny figure disappear down the shore, her dark hair whipping against the wind, arms stretched out, as if she could fly.

Then, exhaling sharply, he took another drag of his cigarette and muttered—

"I fucking hate my life."

The wind swallowed his words. Time passed. He sat there, legs spread, arm draped lazily over his knee, the cigarette slowly burning down to the filter.

The ocean stretched endlessly before him, gray and churning, a vast, empty void.

𝘈 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘬.

Minutes passed.

Too many.

𝘛𝘰𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘺.

Han exhaled through his nose, lazily scanning the horizon. She was gone.

𝘛𝘤𝘩.

He leaned forward slightly, flicking away the spent cigarette. 𝘋𝘪𝘥 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧𝘧? 𝘎𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥? 𝘞𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘬𝘪𝘥 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘥𝘢𝘺𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘭𝘦𝘨𝘴.

Still. She always came back when he told her to. Always.

𝘚𝘩𝘪𝘵.

Another five minutes passed. His jaw tightened. Han stood, dusting the sand off his pants, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the shoreline.

Where the hell—

And then—

A flash of blue.

A tiny figure sprinting down the beach, arms full, feet kicking up sand as she ran straight for him. His shoulders relaxed, a breath leaving him before he even realized he'd been holding it.

𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘴.

Her little voice broke through the wind—"Dad!"

She stumbled slightly as she skidded to a stop in front of him, grinning so brightly it almost hurt to look at.

Tiny hands, full of—

Shells.

𝘈𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯.

Her fingers curled around them carefully, cradling them like treasures, her chest rising and falling with breathless excitement. Han exhaled slowly, shaking his head. His useless, naive, ridiculous daughter.

𝘍𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘭.

"Damn" he muttered, ruffling a hand through his hair, glancing at the ocean. "You take your damn time, kid."

Yeijin just beamed.

She held out her hands, showing off her priceless collection. "I found so many!" she said, breathless, eyes shining. "Look, Dad! Look!"

Han sighed heavily, rubbing his face.

𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘬𝘪𝘥.

She was too much. Too much energy. Too much excitement. Too much—

𝘛𝘰𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘮𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘳.

But— She was the only thing in his fucking life that he could tolerate.

The only thing he hadn't ruined.

Yet.

Han Tae-Won stared at her, cigarette still dangling between his fingers, bored as hell.

Yeijin was rambling.

𝘖𝘧 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦, 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴.

She always rambled.

"And this one" she chirped, holding up a shell with jagged edges, "looks like a crown! Like a real princess crown!"

𝘛𝘤𝘩.

Han exhaled through his nose, unimpressed. "That thing looks broken." Yeijin gasped dramatically, clutching the shell to her chest like he'd insulted her firstborn child. "No, it doesn't!" she protested. "It's special!" Han took a slow drag of his cigarette, deadpan. "Yeah? So are cockroaches." She huffed, ignoring him, shuffling through her stupid little collection with painstaking seriousness.

"And this one is my favorite" she continued, holding up a small, smooth, perfectly white shell. "It's all clean, no cracks, and it's shaped like a little moon!"

Han didn't even glance at it.

Didn't care.

Didn't care about any of it.

But she kept talking.

Kept explaining every single goddamn shell like it was some profound discovery, as if the ocean itself had personally handed them to her.

He let her.

Because honestly? It meant he didn't have to talk. 𝘍𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘣𝘺 𝘩𝘪𝘮. She talked.He smoked.

She existed in her little world of magic and seashells and stupid fucking optimism— And he existed in his world of cigarettes and exhaustion and never-ending bullshit.

It was fine.

Until it wasn't.

CRACK—

A flash of light.

𝘓𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨.

𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘯, 𝘢 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘺, 𝘥𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘳𝘰𝘭𝘭 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳.

𝘖𝘯𝘦.

𝘛𝘸𝘰.

𝘈𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳.

And then—

𝘙𝘢𝘪𝘯.

Like the sky had been waiting. Like it had held its breath just long enough to trick them.

𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘣𝘰𝘰𝘮—𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮.

Heavy. Cold. A wall of unforgiving water slamming down from above.

𝘍𝘶𝘤𝘬.

Han cursed under his breath, flicking away his cigarette. "Alright, we're leaving" he muttered, shaking out his coat.

Yeijin did not move.

Didn't even flinch.

She was still staring at her damn shells, holding them close, trying to shield them from the downpour.

"Yeijin" he snapped, stepping toward her. "Drop them. We're going."

Her grip tightened.

"No!"

𝘛𝘤𝘩.

"You serious?" he growled.

"They'll get lost!" she yelled over the storm. "They'll wash away!"

Han ran a frustrated hand through his wet hair. "𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘺'𝘳𝘦 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘴, 𝘠𝘦𝘪𝘫𝘪𝘯."

"They're mine!"

"Jesus fucking Christ—" He grabbed her by the wrist. She yanked back. And they both fell. Hard.

Straight into the wet sand, shells scattering around them. Han hissed, a sharp jolt running up his spine.

𝘍𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵.

Perfect.

Exactly what he needed.

𝘕𝘰𝘵 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘥, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘩𝘦'𝘥 𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘯 𝘥𝘪𝘳𝘵.

"Stupid—"

But then something small and warm pressed into his palm. Yeijin's hand. Holding something.

He looked down.

One.

One little white shell left in her grasp.

Trembling fingers, wet hair clinging to her soaked face, breathless, wide-eyed. But still holding it. Han exhaled, staring.

For a second, just a second, he thought about throwing it.

𝘊𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘧𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘵 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘤𝘦𝘢𝘯, 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘮𝘯 𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘴, 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘣𝘴𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦—

But he didn't. He didn't throw it.

Instead— He sighed. And stuffed it in his pocket.

"Get up" he grumbled.

Yeijin blinked, rubbing her scraped knee, still panting. "But—"

"Get up!" he growled. "Before we both drown." She hesitated. Then she nodded. And ran.

He grabbed her by the back of her dress, pulling her along as they bolted toward the car. The rain slammed against them, cold and merciless. The wind howled, lightning flashing, the entire world breaking open around them.

And somehow—

Somehow—

They were laughing.

Han didn't know why. Didn't know when it started. Didn't even realize he was doing it.

But Yeijin was laughing, and somehow—

Somehow, so was he.

A loud, messy, almost insane laugh, escaping before he could stop it. Yeijin beamed, gripping his hand tighter, eyes shining through the rain—

And for a moment—

Just a moment—

The world didn't feel so bad.

The rain hadn't stopped.

It pounded against the car windows like it was trying to drown the whole goddamn world, the sound so loud it nearly swallowed their laughter.

𝘕𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘺.

Han Tae-Won was soaked to the bone, hair dripping, dress shirt sticking to his skin, hands freezing as he gripped the steering wheel.

𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘥?

This wasn't supposed to be his day.

But there he was, waterlogged, exhausted, and somehow—laughing.

Yeijin was beside him, curled up in the passenger seat, knees to her chest, shivering but grinning like she'd just won a damn prize. Water dripped from her bangs, her dress clinging to her small frame, her tiny sneakers completely ruined from the wet sand.

She looked ridiculous.

Like a half-drowned puppy.

And yet—

She was beaming.

Still panting from running, still high on adrenaline, cheeks flushed, teeth chattering as she laughed—really laughed—like the storm hadn't just tried to kill them both. Han huffed, leaning back against the seat, running a hand through his soaking wet hair, trying to regain some level of dignity.

𝘛𝘤𝘩.

𝘍𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘬𝘪𝘥.

"Well" he muttered, fishing for his cigarettes in the glove compartment. "At least you can run."

Yeijin blinked at him, still breathless, still grinning.

"…Huh?"

Han didn't look at her. Just shook out a cigarette, placed it between his lips, and lit it.

𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘸𝘦𝘵. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥. 𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘯—𝘧𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯.

A spark. A faint glow.

Smoke curled from his lips as he exhaled, his gaze flickering toward her, still smirking slightly, still amused despite himself.

"I said" he murmured, voice smooth, slow, dragging the words through the haze of nicotine and exhaustion, "you run pretty damn fast for a kid."

Yeijin brightened.

Like the compliment had just reset her entire body chemistry, like it had electrified her veins. She gasped, sitting up straight, wide-eyed, lips parting in pure, unfiltered delight.

"…You think so?!"

Han scoffed, looking away.

𝘛𝘤𝘩.

"Don't get excited." He took another slow drag, shaking his head. "Doesn't mean shit if you don't know when to stop."

Yeijin did not care.

Not one bit.

She just kept grinning, wide and bright, her entire face lit up like a fucking sunrise, like she had just received the highest honor imaginable.

Han tried not to look.

𝘛𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘥.

Tried to focus on the road ahead, the glow of the cigarette, the way his shoulders ached from tension— But then she did it.

She gave him that smile.

That stupid, huge, glowing fucking smile—

The one that made her eyes crinkle, the one that made everything else in the world feel a little less shitty.

And Han?

Han hated it.

Hated it so fucking much.

Hated how bright it was.

Hated how warm it felt.

Hated how, for a split fucking second, it made him forget that he was supposed to be miserable.

Forget that his life was shit.

Forget that he was supposed to hate everything.

Especially her.

But Yeijin didn't know that.

Didn't know that her existence alone made Han resent her just a little less.

Didn't know that she was the only thing in his entire goddamn life that he could tolerate.

She just giggled, pushing her wet hair from her face, still bouncing slightly in her seat like she was too full of energy to sit still.

"You think I could be an athlete?" she asked suddenly, eyes wide with real curiosity.

Han raised a brow, cigarette between his fingers. "You?" He exhaled a slow stream of smoke, voice flat, unimpressed.

Yeijin nodded furiously. "Yeah! I could run super fast! Maybe even be on TV one day!"

Han snorted.

"Sure. Why not. Chase your dreams, kid."

Yeijin beamed even more.

Like she actually believed him.

Han exhaled, shaking his head. 𝘏𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘳. 𝘏𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭. 𝘏𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘯 𝘪𝘥𝘪𝘰𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘳.

But she was eight.

And he was too tired to ruin her night.

So instead he reached into his pocket. Fingers brushing against the small, smooth, white shell.

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘥. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘨𝘰 𝘰𝘧. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺.

𝘞𝘩𝘺?

𝘍𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘪𝘧 𝘩𝘦 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘸.

He clenched his fist around it for a second. Then let out a slow breath. "Yeah" he muttered finally, flicking the cigarette ash out the window.

"You could be an athlete."

Yeijin lit up again, cheeks pink, smiling so big it should be illegal.

And Han?

Han let her.