Seoul had a way of making you feel late even when you weren't.
The city pressed down on Eunha's shoulders as she walked, clouds folded low over the rooftops like laundry left out too long. The wind came off the Cheonggyecheon in short, bitter bursts, tugging at her scarf until she had to hold it closed with one fist. Her feet had already given up complaining. Now they just ached in silence, which was worse.
She'd been in this city her whole life, and still it made her feel like she was either chasing something she couldn't name or running from something she refused to look at directly. Today, it was both. Today, she was doing both.
The flyer had been pinned to the corkboard at the back of the convenience store near her apartment—the one wedged between a discount ad for eyelash extensions and a lost cat poster that had been there so long the tape had yellowed. She'd read it twice before pulling it down, folding it along the creases that were already there, and tucking it into her coat pocket.
Janitors Needed – Entry Level – Start Immediately
Hyun Group Co. | 11F, Building 308, Cheonggyecheon-dong
Mon–Fri, lunch provided.
Lunch. That was the part that got her.
She turned the corner and there it was—Building308. Modest by the standards of this neighborhood, but clean in a way that suggested someone cared. The stone facade held a quiet dignity, and the name HyunGroup was etched into brushed steel above the entrance, the letters catching what little light the evening offered. She didn't know what they did. Design consulting? Architecture? Interior something-or-other. The flyer hadn't bothered to explain, and she hadn't thought to ask.
The lobby smelled like lemon cleaner and new carpet. A security guard sat behind the front desk, his attention buried somewhere in his phone. He nodded without looking up. She nodded back, which was pointless, and headed for the elevator.
The doors opened with a polite chime. She stepped in alone.
"Eleventh floor," she whispered to no one. "Don't mess this up, Cha Eunha."
The elevator rose. She caught her reflection in the mirrored wall—hair a little wild from the wind, cheeks pink from the cold, eyes tired but alert. She looked like someone who had learned to be ready for anything because anything was usually what happened.
She didn't notice the light above her flickering. She didn't notice the faint smell of something burnt seeping through the cracks in the door.
The elevator stopped. The doors slid open.
Floor 11.
The air here was different. Lemongrass and paper, like a stationery shop that had just been cleaned. The lobby was filled with plants—real ones, not the plastic variety—and the art on the walls looked like someone had actually chosen it. Through the glass panels, she could see meeting rooms where people in good suits typed at good computers with the kind of focus that suggested they were being paid well to do it.
This wasn't a scam. This was a real place.
A receptionist looked up from her desk. She was small, precise, with the kind of face that could go from polite to dismissive in half a second.
"Yes?"
"Um—Cha Eunha? For the... janitor interview?"
The receptionist's fingers paused over her keyboard. She typed something, squinted at the screen, then smiled in a way that didn't quite reach her eyes.
"You're early. But they'll see you. Meetingroom B. Down the hall, left."
Eunha bowed. "Thank you."
She turned and walked.
The hallway was longer than it had looked from the lobby. Glass on one side, closed doors on the other. Her footsteps made no sound on the carpet, which unsettled her more than it should have. She passed a conference room where three men were laughing at something on a tablet. She passed an office with the door cracked open, a woman inside speaking rapidly into a headset in a language Eunha didn't recognize.
Then she reached Meeting Room B.