Moving deftly, So-Young glided a chair in front of Hannah and then retreated to the bedroom. Mr. Kim crossed his arms.

  She returned seconds later with two pillows, which she propped on the chair. “I’m sorry if this hurts you.”

  It was the first time Hannah heard her voice, which sounded more mature than her small frame and timid ways suggested. She lifted Hannah’s leg onto the cushions.

  “Is it very painful?”

  Hannah squeezed her eyes shut. The sound of clinking chains, the smell of mold on the cold concrete walls, the metallic taste of blood were less than a day old in her memory, and this wispy child felt bad for propping her leg up on some pillows. “I’m fine.” She summoned a smile to ease So-Young’s mind. “Thank you.”

  So-Young beamed. “I just need a few more things.”

  Mr. Kim scowled at his daughter and strode out of the room.

  A few minutes after So-Young finished wrapping some cold rags and a homemade splint around Hannah’s leg, a young man entered the house. Hannah could barely see him from where she sat at the kitchen table, but she felt his presence fill the room as soon as she heard the door swing open. He was tall and lanky, Hannah noted as soon as he stepped into her field of vision. He was built so much like Simon, a quick surge of elation jolted through her body, replaced almost immediately with the heavy sting of disappointment. She shut her eyes once. Simon was gone, broken, lost somewhere in the North Korean network of gulags — if he was still alive at all. How would she ever know? Would her heart tell her if he were dead, or would she live with this dreadful uncertainty forever?

  The young man looked in all directions at once, a smile on his gaunt face. “I’ve come, Uncle!” High cheekbones held up a pair of wiry glasses. He carried a box, heavy if you judged by the way he grimaced when he set it down in the entryway. His eyes darted across the kitchen, barely registered Hannah, and landed on So-Young. “Little Cousin!” He swirled his fingers around in the air before he pulled out a small piece of taffy from his pants pocket. So-Young let out a tiny giggle and hurried toward him. He tousled her hair and held the candy just out of reach. She stretched her arms up and jumped with a squeal before her father’s disapproving grunt ended the jocularity.

  “Nephew Kwan.” Mr. Kim dipped his head down, and the young man returned with a more formal bow.

  “It’s good to see you, Uncle.” Kwan spanned the space between them in two short strides and clasped the portly man on both shoulders. So-Young tugged on Kwan’s arm, and he handed over the candy. “It’s peppermint. Your favorite.” Her face crinkled up in a soundless giggle, and Hannah’s heart ached for the days she had laughed with the other students at the Sterns’ Secret Seminary. They would never be together again. “I see you have a guest,” Kwan noted, finally turning to Hannah.

  Mr. Kim crossed his arms. “Daughter, show our new arrival to the spare room. Take the pillows with you.”

  So-Young scurried to Hannah’s side. “Can you walk a little ways?” Her voice was full of compassion, with no hint of her previous giddiness.

  Earlier that morning, Hannah had rowed herself across the Tumen River and stumbled uphill to the safe house, dragging her leg behind her. “Yes, I can walk.” She let So-Young prop her up by the elbow. The young man Kwan rushed to take her other arm. His physical closeness, the kind expression on his face, even his refusal to ask any questions, made Hannah feel wretched. She remembered clenching Simon’s hand when they found each other in the Chongjin cell. She knew at that moment he would have done anything for her. He had done everything for her, even betrayed innocent believers. Was that to be her last memory of him, a burden to carry forever and never shed until death? She sniffed once, and Kwan paused.

  “Are you all right?”

  Hannah thought of Simon’s anguished cry when they were torn apart from one another, its resonance echoing bitterly against the cement walls of the prison chamber.

  She nodded once and shuffled to the bedroom. She hardly noticed Kwan lifting her onto the bed; she didn’t register the softness of the mattress beneath her. Her thoughts were consumed with Simon, the words they never spoke, the work they never accomplished. Had she failed him? Had she been a stumbling block to him like Jesus had warned his disciples about? She rolled onto her side and couldn’t even thank So-Young for the warm blanket tucked in around her shivering body. So-Young and Kwan slipped out without a word, and Hannah shed large, hot tears that did nothing to soothe her aching spirit.

  CHAPTER 12

  As sunlight poured in through the small window, Hannah slept. She dreamed she was swinging in the hammock in Mrs. Stern’s garden. The sun enveloped her in its rays and warmed her all the way to the center of her being. The pain in her leg was gone; her stomach was full. The sweet, earthy scent of marigolds blended with the heady fragrance of jasmine. The roses were in bloom. From inside, she heard the murmured prayers of the other Secret Seminary students.

  He came up behind her like a soft breeze and stroked her cheek with his finger. A sudden, delightful chill pricked at her neck, and the leaves rustled above them. She reached up and touched his hand, closed her eyes, and breathed in his smell. “Shouldn’t you be in there with the rest of them?” His voice was distant, muffled somehow. She couldn’t tell if his tone was accusatory or not.

  She strained her ears. Inside the house, their comrades interceded with fervor for the leaders of North Korea, for refugees trying to escape, for believers in prison camps. “We better go inside,” she whispered. She made a move to get up, but her body was too heavy, the air itself weighing her down like layer after layer of quilts.

  “Do we have to?” She heard the smile in his voice as he joined her in the hammock. Waves of heat danced up her back as he snuggled up behind her, curled up against her, wrapped his arms around her. The hammock swayed, but there was plenty of room for them to share. She had never been so close to him before, but it was familiar, like a cup of Mrs. Stern’s sweetened tea — just the right temperature, perfectly steeped.

  His fingers glided slowly through her hair. Her head rested on the soft spot between his shoulder and bicep. “I want to stay here,” she confessed. “I don’t want to go anywhere.”

  “Me, either.” His lips brushed against her ear, the sensation of that first tender kiss shooting tendrils of ice and comfort that eventually settled down deep in her belly.

  When Hannah woke up, her pillow was soaked in tears, and she shivered from the cold.

  ***

  Simon’s body slumped to the floor. His limbs ached, but he knew his injuries paled in comparison to what Hannah endured during the past two weeks in Chongjin. He gritted his teeth, wishing he could smash his head against the concrete wall and end his miserable, pitiful existence. The mere thought of her threatened to steal away his last remnants of sanity. He remembered her eyes, always so trusting, so gentle. In the past, her tender gaze had been enough to encourage him, comfort him, embolden him. He wasn’t even sure he would have completed his training if she hadn’t stared at him so often with such frank admiration. Giving up hadn’t been an option. When she looked at him, she saw a saint. A hero.

  Now she knew what he really was.

  Shame pressed down on him like the lid on a coffin. How could he ever stand tall again? How could he continue on after failing the woman he loved? Yes, he loved her. He had always loved her. From that first night in Mrs. Stern’s garden, that first conversation they shared, his heart belonged to her. He tried to fight it, deceived himself into believing his emotions were under control. He had ignored his heart and tried to reason his affection away. He could never be with her. He had swallowed down his love, and now he found himself drowning in a tsunami of regrets and impossible yearnings.

  He loved her. How easily he could admit it to himself now, when both their lives were forfeit. He loved her, and that’s why he couldn’t lift his head anymore. If he had been able to keep tighter control over his emotions, if he had followed through with his mission instead of charging after her like a gallant, errant fool, she would have never been caught. It was his fault she was captured, his love for her that put her through such unthinkable torment. And yet, if he had to make those choices again, he would only be fated to watch himself repeat the same offenses a hundred times over.

  He loved her, and now that he acknowledged the truth, he knew he would never find a way to stop loving her. It was just as well God took her away. Such idols need to be exorcised entirely, plucked like weeds before they have a chance to grow and choke out all surrounding life. A love like theirs could never find fulfillment. A love like theirs could only end in tragedy.

  He couldn’t tell if it was day or night when the two men forced their way into his dark cell and yanked off his ankle cuffs. He hadn’t eaten in days, refusing the cold gruel the guard passed under the slats of his cage. He didn’t care about food, didn’t care about relieving himself in his little tin pail, didn’t care that his skin was blistering with infection. When the two men lifted him to his feet, he felt no fear. They would kill him eventually. Why not today? Simon was nothing more than a stopwatch. With only a few ticks left on the second-hand, did it matter what happened before his time finally ran out?

  He hated his legs for supporting his weight as he followed the guards down the hall. He had to stop thinking about Hannah and her twisted leg, the way she hobbled away from him. He had to stop thinking about the curve of her shoulders and the gentleness in her eyes. He had to stop thinking about the way she hugged him in the woods, the feel of her skin as they clasped hands in the dark. He shook his head, wishing to rattle the memories loose and be rid of them forever. His love for her was a weakness that had to be carved out of his heart permanently.

  He was weeping by the time the men led him outside the Chongjin jail, but he didn’t notice the blinding light of the afternoon sun or the bitter wind stinging his cheeks. He didn’t notice the rough hands that shoved him into the van or the smell of old gasoline and exhaust. All he thought about was Hannah, the one he had vowed to exorcise from his heart, the one he could never stop thinking about no matter how hard he tried.

  When the van started moving, Simon barely saw anything. He lost track of how long they had been driving and only remembered the sadness in Hannah’s eyes when he last saw her. A thousand reprimands shot from her gaze and pierced his soul like a torturer’s needle. He would welcome the interrogation chair if it could rip away that single memory.

  Eventually, they arrived at a mass of barbed wire as tall as a man. A guard stationed at the gate waved them through, and Simon counted six more patrolmen stationed in watchtowers. The van passed through each of the security checkpoints without event. Simon straightened in his seat. Two men in drab gray prison uniforms slumped along, each laden with a large bucket that sloshed its contents onto their bare feet. Some young children gathered in a little huddle, picking up sticks. A pig in a sty behind them poked its nose around in the dirt. The animal was the only creature in sight that didn’t look like it was starving.

  The van eventually stopped in front of a squat building. A sign flapped in the breeze: Administration. Simon thought about what comfort he could whisper to Hannah, and he had to remind himself yet again she was gone. It was like the loss of a limb. He might never fully get over his phantom urges to talk with her. He thought of their last night together in Yanji, lifetimes removed from interrogations and starvation and failed missions. “There are no good-byes in the kingdom of heaven,” she had breathed so confidently. If only they had known back then what awaited them.

  The men prodded him out of the van with slow, lazy movements. They held him by both elbows, but he walked himself up to the administration building. He had failed the believers he was sent to serve. He had failed Hannah. Now he would pay for his mistakes, but at least he could still carry himself. He wouldn’t let them drag him to his fate like a coward. One of the guards swung the front door open, and he made sure to cross the threshold before anyone else.

  A tired-looking man whose cap was several sizes too large glanced up from a thick file. Without ceremony, the guard passed him a sealed envelope. The clerk opened it with a yawn, and once he finished perusing it, he fixed his gaze on Simon.

  “You are at Camp 22. You are prisoner number 39846.” The corner of his eye twitched. “You’re here until you die.”

  CHAPTER 13

  It was close to evening by the time Hannah’s full bladder finally forced her to limp out of the bedroom. Mr. Kim sat hunched over the box the young man brought over earlier. He straightened and cleared his throat.

  Hannah blushed. “I ... I guess your company has left.” Mr. Kim’s brow furrowed even deeper, but he said nothing. She had never been particularly close to Mr. Stern, but she missed the American’s fatherly ways. She swallowed, grateful her throat wasn’t quite as raw. She looked around once, hoping to catch a glimpse of So-Young. “Your daughter is ...?”

  “Making a delivery.”

  Hannah wasn’t sure if she should keep on standing there or just hobble back to her room. She couldn’t stop shivering. Her head throbbed. A wave of relief soothed her burning cheeks when the front door opened, and So-Young dashed in, just barely dodging one of the chairs near the entryway. Kwan rushed after her, his arms high above his head, his growls and snarls intermingled with snorts of laughter.

  “Daughter!” Mr. Kim barked, but it took So-Young another several seconds to gain control of her momentum. She was panting and laughing at the same time, and her squeals only intensified when Kwan picked her up over his head with a deafening roar. Hannah felt Mr. Kim’s displeasure, waves of irritation the two playfellows either couldn’t detect or chose to ignore. When So-Young’s giggles finally subsided, Kwan set her upright on her feet.

  “That’s enough,” Mr. Kim mumbled. Nobody responded.

  “Will you be staying the night, Brother Kwan?” So-Young tugged on his hand.

  During the Great Hardship, Hannah used to joke that her family of adopted flower-swallows would one day pull her shoulder out of joint from yanking her so hard like that. She took a deep breath, hoping to ease the heaviness of her memories. Yes, there had been laughter then, too. The children weren’t so physically boisterous, but when they were lucky enough to find scraps to fill their distended bellies, they could make a commotion to rival the safe-house cacophony.

  Kwan lifted his arm as So-Young held on, letting her legs dangle several centimeters off the floor. Hannah was surprised by his strength. All the other Koreans she knew were from the North, where even the village police were malnourished weaklings. “I’ve got to cross one more time,” Kwan answered. “Moses ...”

  Everyone stopped. Their heads snapped toward Hannah. So-Young straightened her legs and stood on her own feet. Her smile faded, and she took a small step behind Kwan. He brought his hands together and cracked several of his knuckles one after the other. “That is ... I meant ...”

  The heat from Mr. Kim’s scowl was directed at the young man, but it radiated outward and made Hannah’s neck burn. She was about to excuse herself when Mr. Kim looked at So-Young. “Daughter, show our arrival where the outhouse is.”

  A few minutes later, Hannah hobbled back to her room, where the view of the two men was blocked but not the sound.

  “I still don’t know what Moses was thinking.” Mr. Kim’s volume had steadily increased.

  She did what she could to keep from eavesdropping, but the fine hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, and she couldn’t ignore their words.

  “She can’t even be twenty years old. Next thing you know, he’ll expect me to send my own daughter across the border.”

  “Moses has a reason for everything he does.” Kwan’s voice was steady, and Hannah longed to let her soul absorb its confidence.

  Mr. Kim laughed mirthlessly. “He has reasons, sure enough.”

  “His situation is ... precarious.” Hannah noted the reverence in Kwan’s voice. “He’s constantly in danger.”

  Mr. Kim grunted. “So am I. But you don’t see me plucking little girls out of nursery school and throwing them to the Pyongyang tigers.”

  Hannah wished she could ignore their conversation, but even though her head was heavy with fever and her body trembled with chills underneath the blanket, her mind tuned in to every syllable.

  “She came from Chongjin,” Kwan stated. “She obviously endured a lot at the jail. She must have proven herself to someone over there, gotten Moses’ attention somehow. They say he has connections within ...”

  “I don’t need to be told about his connections,” Mr. Kim spat. The conversation ended for a moment, and when it resumed, the whispers were too faint for Hannah to decipher.

  Throughout the rest of the evening, So-Young tiptoed in every now and then to pat down Hannah’s clammy forehead with a cool rag or offer some bitter tea. As she nursed Hannah’s fever and injured leg, So-Young might have passed as a teenager if she weren’t so tiny. Other times, like when she giggled and played with Kwan, she didn’t seem a day older than Woong and the other flower-swallows Hannah had cared for so many years ago. Were any of them still alive? She had lost count of how many she had buried before she finally crossed the border and found her way to the Sterns’.

  “She won’t be able to make any deliveries until that leg heals.” Hannah overheard Mr. Kim’s remark and wondered if he already regretted her presence here, if he begrudged her the two cups of tea and splint she had claimed her first day as his guest.

  “I doubt she’s ready to go out yet, anyway,” Kwan replied. “She needs time to heal.”

  Hannah shut her eyes, wondering what they’d say if they knew she was listening.

  “She’s been through a lot ...”