AVA
I can still taste the kiss on my lips.
A mistake. A weapon. Or both.
I clutch the stolen keys in my sweaty hand as I rush down the hallway.
My breathing comes in fits and starts.
If I could get out… if I could just—
My heart pounds as I insert the key into the gate at the back of the property.
I pause for a moment to see if I've been followed, but I hear no sound behind me.
I breathe in and try to control my heartbeat.
I insert the key into the slot and turn it.
Nothing.
No click.
I remove it and reinsert it with a hint of nervousness.
But it doesn't open this time either.
I pull it out angrily and stare at it.
It's short and intricate, but even though it's made by the same manufacturer, it's not the right one.
Mr. Jung.
Damn you.
That's why he was smiling as I ran away.
He knew I was holding the wrong key.
I sigh angrily, exhaling a small cloud of steam.
Where's the right key?
I can't go back and ask him, but this key surely opens something.
I close my eyes for a moment and try to concentrate.
What other doors are nearby?
I remember the little door we used to escape through as kids…
I open my eyes and sprint toward the small gate separating the garden from the old construction site.
How many times have we taken refuge in that old, decaying house that's never been repaired.
A sort of old farmhouse destroyed by time and the plundering of the local homeless.
I stop to inspect the open space I have to cross and, noticing no suspicious movement, I stride across it to the gate, half-hidden by the overgrown vegetation.
I push aside the ivy that's covered the keyhole and notice a piece of paper inside.
I frown in surprise.
"Don't look for the exit, look for the source."
I'm taken aback by that writing. Could this be another clue?
It's not written on a computer, but by hand.
Whose is it?
And, above all, by 'source' does he mean water or something else?
I let out a frustrated sigh.
My mind races to Roori.
To our childhood.
To Dad's stories, his metaphors about water, about patience, about seeing what others don't.
"Roori..."
But we've been separated, forbidden to communicate, forbidden to bend the rules.
I put the note in my pocket and try to open the gate with the key.
It doesn't work this time either.
I put it in my pants pocket and head back, defeated, toward the house.
I walk through a corridor I know well that leads to the attic, but at the foot of the stairs, a groove in the wall catches me off guard.
The wallpaper is slightly peeling, and I wonder how no one noticed.
The servants are very fussy about keeping the house clean, even though it's old.
I approach and touch a flap, but it won't come off.
Looking down, I notice a small hole and realize it might be a lock.
I fish the key out of my pants and try to insert it.
I hear a click and the wall opens before me.
Very disturbed, I give a little push and find myself in a small, dark room.
I close the wall behind me and find a switch.
I turn on the light, which is dim, but manages to illuminate an unfamiliar space.
An old, empty aquarium, its glass cracked, lies against the wall. A pattern of stylized fish is engraved on the glass.
On the wall, hanging slightly askew, is a photo of Dad with a large, freshly caught trout.
I approach with a lump in my throat.
I remember that photo, that happy moment.
I touch it with trembling hands.
It was…
CRACKING.
A sharp sound behind me, like a footstep.
I whirl around, my heart pounding furiously.
No one.
Only the silent corridor.
But… I'm not alone.
I feel it.
Somewhere in the house
A shadow, behind a half-open panel in the upper corridor.
Breathing softly.
He watches Ava enter the aquarium room.
He watches Roori and Min leave the fountain.
An almost amused whisper:
"My beloved granddaughters… you're going with the flow.
Just like him."
AVA
I take a step back, alert.
The noise repeats itself, closer.
This time it's a sigh.
Warm.
Human.
"Who's there?" I ask, my voice cracking.
No answer.
Only the gurgling of the empty aquarium, as if... the water were trying to get back in.
I grab the handle.
I have to escape.
But when the door opens...
...I'm no longer alone.