But then the number refreshed.
"5,448."
He fell back in his chair.
"What the fuck."
His loud exclamation prompted Young-shil to stir. His tags jangled against the hardwood. Then white and black groaned as the hound pulled himself onto his feet and nudged Ji-pyeong for attention.
"Young-shil, we're going to need more analysts."
Ji-pyeong turned to smile gleefully at Young-shil as a velvet ear slipped between his fingers.
"Well happy birthday to me."
He laughed softly and then closed out the Atlas database. Ji-pyeong's eyes lingered on the screensaver. It was a small-scale study for the mural now adorning the entrance to Project Atlas. Max had introduced Ji-pyeong and Mi-rae to an artist named Ryan Gold who was based in both Seoul and New York. He immediately understood their vision. But then he transformed it into something that took Ji-pyeong's breath away. The mural swirled with vivid purples and blues. At the center was a small red boat beneath a sky full of stars with a figure looking up. The mural was vibrantly abstract — broad brushstrokes that seemed to still be alive with paint. Yet it was unmistakably the Atlas logo. And it felt like they had captured a piece of the sky and pinned it fast inside of their dream.
There was a crackling sound.
Ji-pyeong's eyes darted urgently to the source.
Red lights flashed around in a circle. And then there was a small whimper. Ji-pyeong swiped the monitor that he had smuggled out of their bedroom from his desk. He switched off the sound decisively.
Mi-rae needs to sleep.
He sprung to his feet and strode across the herringbone wood floors of their Fifth Avenue apartment. His heart was doing that now familiar stutter — the spasm that pulsed every time his daughter cried. Ji-pyeong pushed the door to her bedroom open. Loki was sitting on the windowsill, narrowing his eyes as if to ask what had taken him so long.
Ji-pyeong rushed to the crib.
"Shhhh, I'm here."
Curious brown eyes locked with his.
"I'm here."
Whimpering trailed off with a spark of recognition.
Ji-pyeong bent his tall frame down over the crib. A tiny toothless mouth curled into a miracle of a smile; pink gums announcing her delight at the sight of his face. Smiles had burst without warning like a blinding comet a week ago after a particularly sleepless night — as if she sensed the precise moment of her parents' utter exhaustion. His fingers caressed downy black hair as twin divets revealed themselves on either side of her face. Mi-rae insisted that they were her father's legacy rather than a fleeting feature of increasingly plump cheeks. He would only accept the comparison if Mi-rae would admit that the bright lovely brown of her eyes came from her mother.
He quickly undid the velcro of the swaddling blanket. Legs sprung free and began kicking with an excited burst that made him huff in amusement. Ji-pyeong slid his hands under her wiggling body and lifted her to his chest.
"Good morning, my little star."
They had named her "star" — for that was what she was. The brightest of their dreams pulled down from the heavens into their arms. And while her full name meant "big star," Ji-pyeong had taken to calling her a nickname more appropriate for her size.
Han Byeol was born at 11:59 on her due date of the seventh of March. Dramatically punctual, as if she already knew that she was her parents' daughter. Byeol announced her pending arrival with a mad rush while Mi-rae was making tea to ease the ache in her limbs. Her water broke exactly as it did in the movies (despite the myriad of books and birthing classes constantly advising that such things only happened in the movies). Young-shil skidded back and forth across the kitchen floor yelping in confusion as Ji-pyeong breathlessly clamored to her side. A man of action, he seized their bags and whisked her to Mt. Sinai hospital with deceptively calm command.
May 7, 2025 (Second Epilogue)
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