The Passengers (Book #2)

ℑ 𝔐𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱 𝔏𝔬𝔰𝔢 𝔜𝔬𝔲

My dad leads the girls down the dim-lit hallway toward the . . . ballroom? I can't believe I'm calling it that now—or more accurately, that I even have a room like that in my house. As I pass the painting that I'm convinced has changed, I scowl at it.

Seulgi glances back at me, and I pull my eyes away from the woman's face. "This place is huge."

"Perfect for a party. We love planning parties," Hyeri says.

"Some of us more than others," Wendy says.

Hyeri ignores her and pats her stomach. "I just wish I wasn't so full. I think I ate a plateful of kimbaps by myself. And those chocolate-dipped strawberries . . . Wow."

"You were eating like you've been starved half your life," Wendy says, even though she did the exact same thing. "And I know your mother keeps your refrigerator full."

"Correction: she keeps it stocked with organic vegetables and Greek yogurts, and no chocolate-covered strawberries."

"You're welcome here anytime. We have enough sweets to feed the whole town," my dad says as we enter the ballroom. It's obvious he's thrilled they showed up to eat a meal with us and even more thrilled they asked for a tour of the house.

Hyeri smiles.

"I'd be careful with that offer, Mr. B," Wendy says. "Hyeri may look small, but she's got the metabolism and food capacity of an elephant."

The girls stop as if on cue and take in the room.

"This is like a time capsule from the eighteen hundreds," Seulgi says. "It's gorgeous."

"Well, feel free to have a party in here anytime you like," my dad says.

Hyeri walks to the middle of the room and turns around twice. Her eyes widen. "What if we all meet here before the Spring Fling? It's ideal for pictures."

My dad lights up. "I think that's a great idea."

"I wasn't going—" I start to say.

But Hyeri cuts me off with a squeal. "Is there a way to play music in here?"

My dad grins. "Sure thing. There's an old record player over there, and we could easily bring in a stereo with some speakers."

I cringe, remembering my fight with Sehun. On impulse I pull out my phone and check my texts, but there are none. I usually hear from him ten times a day. I type a text and press send: Can we talk?

Hyeri walks up to the old gramophone. She lifts the lid and places the needle on a record. Scratchy classical music fills the room, and Hyeri bounces on the balls of her feet. Something about the music feels oddly familiar, and not good familiar. She picks up the needle and the room goes quiet.

The doorbell chimes. Sehun?

"I'll get it," I say. Would he really come over that fast?

I speed-walk down the hall to the foyer and peer through the peephole. No one's there. I open the door and squint into the darkness. A long glossy white box with a black bow sits on our steps with a card tucked into the ribbon.

I step outside and look around. "Hello?" But there's no answer, and no delivery truck leaving from the curb.

I pull the box inside and open the card. It's written in beautiful cursive, not as pretty as Joohyuk's calligraphy, but close. It reads: