Cameras Made It Public

The cameras bother me more than Baek does. A stranger who looked at the exchange footage would know my face before anyone trusted me enough to hire me. Baek wanted proof of wrongdoing, but he accidentally made me recognizable. There is a humiliating kind of power in that. I can see myself being discussed by people I have never met, and I cannot tell whether I am being protected by distance or hunted through it.

The mockery about my hotel background was cheap, but it found the bruise I keep covered. I am still the woman who came from a place people use as shorthand for someone who has not earned her way into the big rooms. I wanted to laugh. Instead, I asked for the projector cache and the inventory number because facts are quieter weapons, and because I am tired of being loud when I am afraid.

I keep circling the forged timestamp. It is the first thing that felt like a door opening instead of a trap closing. Not an answer yet. Just enough room to stop panicking.

Jisu's invitation for the Maru sits beside the parcel-locker envelope. I drew the route twice because part of me believes preparation can bully fear into obedience. The other part knows the vessel may be exactly where Baek expects me to be. I am going anyway. What would I be if I let one public accusation decide where I stand?

My grandfather's buried gold feels far away tonight, but not gone. I have built my life around finding things other people abandoned. It is easier to name that than to say I still want my family to see me as capable rather than mistaken.