The pediatric wing of Choi Medical Complex was a marvel of cold technology.
Everything gleamed under harsh fluorescent lights-chrome examination tables, scanners that hummed with quiet menace. The air smelled sterile, like chemicals designed to erase every trace of humanity.
Celeste stood behind a wall of glass, her hands pressed flat against the surface, watching her daughter sit small and alone on an examination table that was far too big for her.
Luna's legs dangled over the edge, not quite reaching the floor. Her eyes-wide and dark and terrified-kept darting toward the glass where Celeste stood, searching for reassurance her mother couldn't give.
The glass was soundproof. Luna couldn't hear her.
Celeste wanted to break something.
Now she watched as three medical staff entered the examination room. Two women, one man, all in pristine white coats with the Choi Pharmaceuticals logo embroidered on the breast pocket.
They moved with practiced precision, setting up equipment, preparing instruments. They spoke to each other in rapid Korean that Luna couldn't understand.
Luna shrank back on the table.
"It's okay, sweetheart," one of the women said in accented English, her smile professional and meaningless. "We're just going to do some tests. Nothing will hurt."
But Luna didn't believe her. Why would she? These were strangers in a strange place touching her with cold hands and colder instruments.
The first scanner looked like something from a science fiction film-a large ring that descended from the ceiling on mechanical arms.
Luna's face crumpled. "Maman?"
Celeste slammed her palm against the glass. "I'm here, baby! I'm right here!"
But Luna couldn't hear her. The soundproof barrier swallowed every word.
The technician positioned the scanner around Luna's head. The machine hummed louder, and rotating lights began circling in hypnotic patterns.
Luna started crying.
Not loud, theatrical crying. The quiet, desperate kind that broke something fundamental in Celeste's chest. Tears streamed down her face, her small body shaking, her mouth forming the word "Maman" over and over again behind the glass.
Celeste's nails dug into her palms, leaving crescent-shaped marks that would bruise later.
The scan continued. Five minutes that felt like five hours. The medical staff made notes on their tablets, completely unmoved by the crying child between them. To them, Luna was data. A subject. A case number on a form.
When the first scan finished, they moved to blood work.
A young nurse-she couldn't have been more than twenty-five-approached with a tray of vials and needles. She spoke softly to Luna in Korean, then switched to English. "Small pinch. Very fast. You are brave, yes?"
Luna shook her head violently, pressing herself back against the table, Monsieur Hopps held up like a shield.
"No! I want my maman! Please, I want my maman!"
The nurse reached for Luna's arm.
Luna jerked away, nearly falling off the table. Her crying escalated into something close to panic-short, gasping breaths between sobs, her face red and wet.
"Please hold still," the nurse said, frustration creeping into her professional tone. "We must take the blood sample."
"No! No, no, no!" Luna scrambled backward, and the nurse grabbed her wrist to hold her steady.
That's when Celeste broke.
She didn't think. Didn't plan. Just moved.
She spun toward the door and found it locked. Of course it was locked.
Everything in this place was locked. But she grabbed the handle anyway and yanked with all her strength, then slammed her shoulder against it.
"Open this door!" Her voice was raw, feral. "Open it right now!"
Behind her, the air pressure changed.
Jae-won.
He'd appeared silently, the way predators do. Standing against the far wall like a statue, his hands in his pockets, his face an unreadable mask as he watched the procedure through the glass. Watching the little girl cry. Watching Celeste fall apart.
How long had he been there?
"Open the door." Celeste's voice shook with barely contained rage. "She's terrified. She needs me. Open the goddamn door."
Jae-won didn't move. Didn't even look at her. His eyes remained fixed on the examination room, on Luna thrashing against the nurse's grip.
"The protocol requires-"
"I don't care about your protocol!" Celeste shouted. "That's just a little girl! She's two years old and some months old and she's scared!"
In the examination room, Luna's panic escalated. Her breathing came too fast, irregular. Her lips were starting to lose color. The nurse looked toward the glass, uncertainty finally cracking her professional facade.
She shoved past Jae-won-actually put her hands on his chest and pushed-and ran to the connecting door. It was locked too, with a keypad.
She slammed her fist against it over and over. "Let me in! Let me in right now or I swear to God-"
Behind her, a soft electronic beep.
The door unlocked.
Celeste didn't wait to see if Jae-won had done it or if someone else had taken pity. She burst through the door into the examination room, and Luna's head snapped up.
"Maman!"
Celeste swept her daughter off the table and into her arms, holding her so tight Luna gasped. She buried her face in Luna's hair and rocked her, murmuring in French, words that meant nothing and everything.
"Je suis là, mon cœur. Je suis là. Tu es en sécurité. Je ne te laisserai pas."
The medical staff stepped back, exchanging uncertain glances. The young nurse still held the empty syringe, looking lost.
Luna sobbed against Celeste's shoulder, her whole body shaking.
And then Celeste started to sing.
Softly at first, then stronger. An old French lullaby her own mother had sung to her before she died. Before her father's work consumed everything. Before the world became laboratories and experiments and running.
"Fais dodo, Colas mon p'tit frère. Fais dodo, t'auras du lolo."
The room fell silent.
The machines stopped humming. The staff stopped moving.
Luna's sobs quieted to hiccups, then to shaky breaths. Her small hand fisted in Celeste's shirt, holding on like she'd never let go.
Celeste kept singing, swaying gently, and somewhere in the back of her mind she was aware of the glass wall behind her. Of the observation room beyond it.
She didn't turn around. Didn't acknowledge him. Just held her daughter and sang until Luna's breathing evened out, until her body stopped trembling, until she felt safe enough to whisper against Celeste's neck.
"Don't leave me again."
"Never," Celeste whispered back. "I promise. Never."
JAE-WON
Behind the glass, I stood motionless, my expression revealing nothing.
But my hand, pressed against the glass, had curled into a fist so tight my knuckles had gone white.
I stared at the woman holding the child, at the way she curved her body protectively around the small form, at the way she sang with her eyes closed like nothing else in the world existed.
Three years.
Three years I'd searched for her. Three years of rage and obsession and sleepless nights wondering if she was alive or dead.
And now she was here, in my building, under my control, singing a lullaby to a child I hadn't known existed.
A child with my eyes.
My jaw tightened.
Dr. Min appeared beside me, clipboard in hand, his face carefully neutral. "Sir, should we continue the examination?"
I didn't answer immediately. I watched Celeste sway with the child, watched the little girl's tears dry against her mother's shoulder, watched something I didn't have a name for unfold behind the glass.
"No," I finally said, my voice cold and flat. "Reschedule for tomorrow. Make sure Dr. Reeves is present."
"And the woman?"
My fist tightened until my nails bit into my palm.
"Send her to Lab 4."
