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 sprawled on the couch, legs folded beneath her, a worn paperback abandoned on her lap. But the smell was so good that she almost forgot about everything else. Almost.
"What is that?" Ji-yoo demanded, glee sharp enough to cut through any silence
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 declared, stubborn brightness defying the weight of the frozen world
No response from Alessia.
"I mean, the smell alone is making me consider renouncing my current diet of canned beans and regret," Ji-yoo grinned, dark humor crackling through the stale air
Still nothing.
"Are you going to sulk in that chair all evening?" Ji-yoo pressed, glee sharp enough to cut glass
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 gestured, spite and stubborn logic fueling every syllable
"I'm not starving myself out of spite," Alessia replied, thin steel wire holding her voice together
"You haven't moved in forty minutes," Ji-yoo observed, running on fumes and surgical precision
"I'm resting," Alessia whispered, barely a whisper pulled from the hollow of her chest
"You're brooding," Ji-yoo countered, gasping between cracks of dark laughter
"Those are not mutually exclusive," Alessia fired back, exhaustion grinding through each word
Ji-yoo grinned. 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 this morning. 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 reasoned, holding court from the couch like a judge delivering verdict
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 said, raw honesty scraping through her throat
"It's not?" Ji-yoo challenged, a grin fighting through
"It's about where it happened. He brought me here. To the same room. The same couch. The same mansion where he—" Alessia stopped, breath catching on fishhooks. "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 explained, forced clinical calm cracking at the seams
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 acknowledged, the glee draining from her eyes
"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 erupted, raw and unguarded bleeding through every word
She turned from the window. Her blue eyes were bright.
"So she wasn't hiding it from you," Ji-yoo observed, sharp analytical precision cutting through the tension
"No. She didn't know," Alessia confirmed, thin steel wire holding her voice together
Ji-yoo let that settle.
"Well. That changes things," Ji-yoo decided, a grin hiding the calculation behind her eyes
"Does it?" Alessia challenged, fingers trembling slightly against her arms
"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 diagnosed, delighted in a way that was almost cruel
Alessia opened her mouth. Closed it.
"I hate it when you're reasonable," Alessia conceded, something fracturing behind the steel in her voice
"I know. It's one of my best qualities," Ji-yoo laughed, dark amusement crackling through the air
— • • • —
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 challenged, chin raised like a blade
Ji-yoo blinked.
"What?" Ji-yoo blurted, a grin fighting through the confusion
"The dining table. You should eat at the dining table. Not on a couch like a college student," Hua laid out, chef's efficiency cutting through the awkwardness
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. Nothing, really. Ji-yoo unfolded from the couch with the same spring-loaded readiness she brought to everything.
"I'll manage," Ji-yoo declared, spring-loaded certainty in her stride
"Good. I didn't cook all this just to have you eat it while lying down. That's an insult to the food," Hua fired, chef's pride burning through the fatigue
She picked up the tray again and headed toward the dining room.
Alessia stood from the armchair. The two women looked at each other for a moment — the kind of wordless negotiation that happened between people who had shared too much to need language.
"Get up before she comes back and carries you herself. I'm not explaining to Jae-min how his sister got dragged to the dining table by his—" Alessia started, gentle warmth cutting through the cold
She stopped. The word she had been about to use hung in the air. She let it go.
Ji-yoo unfolded from the couch in one smooth motion and headed toward the dining room, her stride steady and sure. No stumbling. No hesitation. Alessia followed a step behind.
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 dropped into a padded dining chair — dark leather, proper upholstery, the kind of furniture that cost more than most cars. 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 demanded, glee sharp enough to cut through any silence
"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 explained, chef's efficiency cutting through the awkwardness
"The rice?" Ji-yoo pressed, a grin fighting through
"Dried rice in the pantry. Gas range in the kitchen — propane tanks, not connected to the grid. The original owner thought of everything," Hua continued, laying out the facts without inflection
"And the pickled vegetables?" Ji-yoo pressed, 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 answered, quiet pride anchoring each word
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 ordered, no hesitation no retreat
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 breathed, fierce unguarded joy cracking through her composure
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 ordered, not even opening her eyes
"I'm not—" Alessia started, barely a whisper pulled from the hollow of her chest
"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 hands are full with this fork," Ji-yoo fired, dark humor crackling through medical authority
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 declared, warmth cutting through the dark humor
"It's just pork belly and rice," Hua deflected, fierce and unyielding
"There is no 'just' about this," Ji-yoo countered, a grin fighting through
Ji-yoo polished off her plate in under five minutes. She set the fork down, leaned back in the dining chair, and let out a long, satisfied breath.
"I need seconds," Ji-yoo demanded, fierce unguarded joy cracking through her composure
"You need to rest," Alessia countered, gentle warmth cutting through the cold
"I need both," Ji-yoo insisted, impossible to silence
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 warned, too tired for more
"I didn't say anything," Ji-yoo deflected, impossible to silence
"You're about to. I can see it on your face," Alessia shot back, exhaustion grinding through each word
Ji-yoo's mouth twitched.
"So," Ji-yoo began, gasping between cracks of dark laughter
"No," Alessia cut, hollow-centre echo where her heart should be
"You didn't even let me—" Ji-yoo protested, wincing through a smile
"I know what you're going to say," Alessia dismissed, exhaustion heavy in every syllable
"I was just going to ask if you wanted more water," Ji-yoo offered, dark humor crackling through innocence
Ji-yoo held up her empty glass, her face the picture of innocent helpfulness. It was not convincing.
"I hate you," Alessia muttered, the last of her strength grinding to dust
"You love me. I'm the only person in this frozen wasteland who can make you laugh," Ji-yoo declared, the laughter evaporating from her eyes
"You haven't made me laugh," Alessia countered, sagging slightly but not breaking
"Not yet. Give me time. I just got here. Once I'm settled in, the comedy will be relentless," Ji-yoo promised, a predatory grin squaring her shoulders
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 breathed, fierce unguarded joy cracking through her composure
"I'm a chef. Angels don't sear pork belly," Hua corrected, fierce pride burning through fatigue
"Same thing," Ji-yoo declared, from the dining chair
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 offered, chin raised like a blade
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 replied, gentle warmth cutting through the cold
Hua nodded. Turned. Walked back to the kitchen.
The door swung shut behind her.
Ji-yoo sigh.
"That was painful," Ji-yoo observed, impossible to silence
"Shut up and eat your food," Alessia ordered, clinical authority slicing through exhaustion
— • • • —
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, working through a second plate of something that looked and smelled incredible, her black ponytail swinging as she gestured between bites. 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 started, one word a blade
"Kitchen. She's been in there since she served us. Cooking more food, I think. Or possibly hiding. Could be both," Ji-yoo answered, gesturing dramatically with her fork
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 challenged, not turning around
"All of it," Jae-min confirmed, no hesitation
He leaned against the doorframe.
"Good," Hua acknowledged, the knife never stopping
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 laid out, cold surgical certainty carving each word
Hua did not turn around.
"That's good," Hua acknowledged, fierce composure holding steady
"Level one is storage and maintenance. Tools, spare parts, construction material. Enough to fortify the entire ground floor if we need to," Jae-min continued, laying out the facts without inflection
"Good," Hua confirmed, the knife never pausing
"Level two is..." Jae-min started, without inflection
He paused.
The knife stopped.
"What?" Hua demanded, sharp and direct as a blade
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 delivered, the weight of corpses pressing down on each word
Hua studied his face. Whatever she saw made her set down the knife.
"That bad?" Hua challenged, one eyebrow raised
"We'll go through it together when everyone is here," Jae-min deflected, 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 ordered, fierce and unyielding
"I'll eat after I go back for the others," Jae-min declined, not looking at anyone
"You're going back now? It's dark outside," Hua challenged, 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 urged, the weight of corpses pressing down on each syllable
Hua's hand stilled on the knife.
"The others," Hua repeated, fierce composure holding steady
"Three more. You'll meet them when they arrive," Jae-min confirmed, jaw tight as a vise
"Will they be as... surprised... as Alessia was?" Hua challenged, sharp and direct as a blade
Jae-min almost smiled. Almost.
"Probably not in the same way. But yes. There will be reactions," Jae-min admitted, staring ahead at something only he could see
Hua turned back to the cutting board. The knife resumed its rhythm.
"Then I'll have more food ready. How many total?" Hua asked, chin raised like a blade
"Six. Plus me. Plus you. Nine," Jae-min calculated, no warmth in his voice
"Nine people. That's a lot of mouths," Hua observed, not a hint of apology
"It's a big mansion," Jae-min countered, voice flat as concrete
"It's a big kitchen. I can handle it," Hua declared, pride burning through fatigue like a furnace
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 said, a wall of reinforced concrete
She did not turn around.
"Survive. I'll be here," Hua answered, bold and unflinching
— • • • —
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. 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 announced, quiet certainty anchoring each word
Alessia looked up.
"Be careful," Alessia whispered, barely a whisper pulled from the hollow of her chest
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 ordered, stone giving nothing away
"No promises," Ji-yoo fired back, from the dining chair
"Ji-yoo," Jae-min warned, not looking up
"What? I'm physically incapable of antagonizing anyone. I'm an angel. A well-fed angel," Ji-yoo declared, dark humor crackling through innocence
"You're the opposite of an angel. You're a gremlin with a ponytail," Jae-min shot back, frost welding his jaw shut
"I'm your gremlin with a ponytail. Show some respect," Ji-yoo insisted, impossible to silence
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 — -70°C, the permanent baseline 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.