"How do you raise a house full of psychopaths, Dr. Choi?" she asked, looking back through the glass at the small boy.
"Very carefully, Dr. Min. Very carefully."
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Jun tucked his head deeper into his red hoodie, his hand curling around the hilt of the knife buried within the sweatshirt's through and through pocket. It was easy to blend in the middle of the night, swirling from shadow to shadow, avoiding the anemic yellow street lights of the dark, dingy street, but that didn't mean this was a safe neighborhood. Not by any means.
This was the forgotten part of town. Every building had bars on the windows, the roads were pockmarked with potholes, which became oil-slicked pools each time it rained. The prevalence of gun stores, bail bondsmen, and lawyers sat in stark contrast to Jun's neighborhood on the other side of the tracks. But he wasn't trying to 'slum it' with the poor. These were Jun's people. He'd spent the first six years of his life in a dilapidated trailer behind the mini-mart.
Police cars prowled the streets, sometimes shining their flashlights out the window to harass a cluster of people until they dispersed. But they never noticed Jun. Nobody ever noticed him, really. That was why he was still free to roam, to hunt, to kill. But, tonight, the only thing on his to-do list was an early bedtime.
It was strange how seamlessly one could blend if they just pretended they belonged. Even somebody who spent much of his time in the public eye. Somebody famous in certain circles. He supposed it was almost easier to blend in when the alternative seemed preposterous. And the youngest son of billionaire Choi Minho walking around alone in the worst part of town in the wee hours of the morning seemed pretty preposterous.
But that wasn't who Jun was either. In truth, Jun was nobody. A carefully crafted lie, raised specifically to right the wrongs of others. A lie he had executed so well that, sometimes, even he believed it. But it wasn't real. Any of it. Maybe that was what truly made his walks the best thing about his nights. Nobody gave a shit about him on this side of town. They didn't know the Choi name or who the world thought he was. They didn't care.
He cut through a dark alley to the entrance of the hollowed out shell of a building where he kept his...supplies. He didn't need light to see his way around. He'd been using this particular shelter since he was fifteen. He just needed to drop the knife in his kit and then he'd be on his way. He might even make it home by midnight.
Jun didn't hear the scuffing of sneakers over concrete until it was too late. The sound of a gun's hammer cocking quickly followed, echoing through the empty space. Still, he didn't slow his pace until a wobbly voice shouted, "Stop."
Jun was tempted to ignore the request. The owner of the voice sounded young, uncertain. Terrified, really. It wasn't uncommon for homeless kids to try to find shelter when it grew cold outside. He was probably a junkie. A tweaker looking for quick cash or drugs. But the likelihood of getting shot wasn't zero, and even twitchy junkies sometimes got lucky and hit an artery. His father would resurrect him just to kill him again if he got himself merced in this part of town.
He slowed to a halt with a sigh, turning to face his assailant. He was definitely an amateur. He'd stopped directly in the only pool of light in the darkened space, illuminating his features in great enough detail that Jun could have drawn the boy's sketch from memory.
