I stopped the car near the apartment building and turned the engine off. Rain was coming down harder now, not a storm, but fast enough to soak you if you stood still too long. Minne pulled her hood up, and I did the same before stepping out. I locked the car and followed her to the entrance, the sound of rain tapping against concrete filling the street.
She pushed the door open, and we headed inside. The building was old enough that there were no elevators, just a narrow stairwell that smelled faintly of cleaning solution and damp air. We started climbing.
"So," I said as we reached the first landing, "did you tell your mother that Guy isnāt... around anymore?"
"I already did," she replied. "And I told her about you. She approves."
"That fast?" I asked. "She didnāt approve of Guy?"
"No one approves of Guy," she said sharply, the edge in her voice unmistakable. "No one."
"Fair enough," I muttered as we reached the next floor. "I thought you said your mom couldnāt really move. This place doesnāt even have an elevator."
"She can walk," Minne said. "Just not well. She gets tired quickly."
"Hmm."
We climbed another flight, and she pointed down the hallway. "Here."
She knocked. After a moment, the door opened, and Emma stood there like she always did, short green hair slightly messy, half-lidded eyes looking like she was permanently unimpressed with the world.
"Emma," Minne said, blinking in surprise. "I didnāt know youād be here."
"I was in the block," Emma replied casually. "Thought Iād stop by and say hi to Ms. Drag."
"Thatās... nice of you," Minne said.
Emmaās gaze slid to me, and one corner of her mouth lifted. "Evanās here too, huh? Come in."
Minne stepped inside first and immediately slipped her shoes off, setting them neatly by the door. I followed her lead and did the same.
"My momās Japanese," Minne said quietly. "She hates shoes in the house."
"Japanese or not, thatās reasonable," I said, shrugging. "You step outside where dogs and cats piss everywhere."
"But you donāt take your shoes off in the penthouse, Master," she replied softly.
"Thatās because I have a lovely maid," I said, nudging her shoulder lightly.
She chuckled under her breath. I noticed Emma watching us, her eyes opening just a little more, but she didnāt comment.
Minne gestured for us to move further in, and we followed her into the living room. The space was modest but warm. A low table sat in the center with magazines stacked unevenly on it, a folded blanket draped over one arm of the couch. Shelves lined one wall, crowded with books, small plants, and framed photos. It was a little messy, but not neglected, the kind of mess that came from living in a place rather than avoiding it.
Ms. Drag sat on the couch with headphones on, tapping her fingers lightly against her knee. When she saw us, she pushed herself up quickly and walked toward Minne, her steps slightly unsteady. She wrapped her arms around her daughter without hesitation.
"Oh," She said. "I didnāt hear the door ring..."
Minne hugged her back. "Mom..."
Ms. Drag was in her mid-forties, kind eyes, soft features, and a presence that immediately filled the room. When she pulled back, she reached up and brushed Minneās hair aside, smiling.
"What were you listening to?" Minne asked.
"A cooking podcast," Emma answered from the hallway. "Some recipe thing."
"Oh. Nice."
Ms. Dragās attention shifted to me. "Mr. Marlowe," she said with a polite bow. "Itās nice to finally meet you."
"Evan is fine," I replied. "Nice to meet you too."
"Hana," she said, correcting herself with a small smile. "Please, sit. Would you like some tea?"
"I really donātā"
"Iāve got it, Ms. Drag," Emma called from the hallway.
Hana relaxed instantly. "Ah. Thank you, honey."
"We really wonāt take much of your time, Ms. DraāHana," I said, correcting myself quickly. "I heard you have a cat named Kim. Is that right?"
"Yes?" she asked as she settled back into the couch, her posture stiffening just a little. "Did something happen to her?"
"No, no," I said immediately, shaking my head as I sat across from her with Minne beside me. "Nothing like that. I was just wondering... sheās here, right?"
"She should be sleeping in the other room."
I nodded once, then took a breath. "I was thinking Kim could come live with us. At the penthouse. If thatās something youād be okay with."
Her expression changed instantly. Her eyes lit up before she could stop herself, and then she looked at Minne, searching her face. I couldnāt tell if she was relieved or just happy, maybe both.
"Of course," Hana said after a moment. "But Kim is... a bad girl."
"A bad girl?" I asked, surprised.
Emma came back into the living room carrying a tray with three glasses of tea. She set it down on the coffee table, then let out a quiet sigh and shook her head at me. Tugging at the hem of her t-shirt, she pushed the sleeve up from her wrist to her elbow, exposing her forearm.
There were a few thin red scratches there. Fresh, but shallow.
"She did that," Emma said flatly. "Little idiot. Iām just glad she didnāt go for my foot."
"Your foot?" I asked, then immediately realized why that mattered to her.
She was... selling her feet photos, right? I guess she didnāt want the āproductā to be damaged.
Minneās eyes widened, but Hana didnāt seem to catch the implication. Emma dropped her sleeve back down like it was nothing.
I leaned forward, picked up one of the glasses, and sat back again. Minne and Hana followed suit. Emma didnāt take a drink for herself. She sat on the remaining chair and crossed her legs. She wasnāt wearing shoes, only black socks, and my eyes lingered longer than they should have before I cleared my throat and forced myself to refocus.
"So," I said, looking back to Hana, "Minne told you Guy isnāt a problem anymore."
"She did," Hana said quietly, lifting her cup. "I thank God every day. He was a bad man, Mr. Marlowe."
"Evan," I corrected gently. "Did he ever meet you?"
"No," she said. "I only knew him by name. And from television. Emma is the one who found Minne that maid job."
"And I regret it every day," Emma muttered, exhaling through her nose. "Never knew that bastard was that unhinged."
"Emma," Hana said with a tired shake of her head. "Please donāt swear in front of guests."
"Sorry, Ms. Drag."
"Sheās not wrong," I said. "Guy was a bastard. A twisted one. You didnāt know him personally, but trust me, that word barely covers it."
Minne nodded, her fingers tightening in her lap as she glanced at her mother. Hana leaned back, her gaze drifting to the wall. For a second I thought she was just thinking, but then her eyes glossed over and her breath hitched.
She wiped at her face quickly, then tried to lift her tea. Her hands were shaking too badly. After a second, she set the glass down and exhaled sharply.
Minne was on her feet immediately, disappearing down the hallway. She came back with a tissue and handed it to her mother before sitting close beside her. Hana pressed it to her eyes, shoulders trembling.
"It was my fault," she said softly. "She worked there for my treatment. Iā"
"Thatās not true," Minne said, her voice tight. "Please stop saying that."
"Sheās right," Emma added, still calm, eyes half-lidded but serious. "You didnāt do this. If anyoneās at fault, itās me."
"I just..." Hana swallowed.
"Hana," I said, leaning forward slightly so she had to look at me. "You donāt need to worry anymore. Guy is gone. Minne is safe now. Sheās with me, and Iāll take care of her. However I can. I promise."
She nodded slowly, then again, her grip on the tissue loosening. "Thank you, Evan."
"No problem," I said, then straightened up and clapped my hands lightly, trying to ease the heaviness in the room. "Alright. Whereās this infamous Kim cat?"
Emma stood. "You want to see her? Come on."
"Sure."
"Iāll stay with my mom," Minne said quietly. "Is that okay, Master?"
"Of course," I said, meeting her eyes. "Iāll be right back."
I got up and followed Emma out of the living room. We walked down the narrow hallway and turned right. The floor creaked faintly under our steps. At the very end, she stopped and pushed a door open.
Inside was a bedroom.
The bed was neatly made, the blanket pulled tight and squared like no one had slept in it for a long time. The furniture was simple: a small desk, a chair tucked under it, a narrow wardrobe against the wall. Everything was clean, but there was a thin layer of dust on most surfaces, like the room had been preserved rather than used. A few old posters were still taped to the wall, their corners curling.
"Minneās old bedroom," Emma said, stepping aside. "Come in."
I hummed quietly and followed her inside.