Bloodline of Sin
It was a small sound, domestic and harmless, but in the cavernous silence of the apartment, it rang out like a gavel striking a judge’s block.
Han Jun-woo sat at the kitchen island, his shoulders hunched inward as if trying to make himself disappear. He stared down into the bowl of soup. The ox blood and cabbage soup was a rich, rusty red, the ultimate comfort food, the kind his stepfather used to order for him after late-night study sessions, the kind that promised to knit a fraying body back together.
It was delicious. It was perfect. And Jun hated every mouthful.
Every swallow felt like swallowing crushed glass, scratching its way down his throat, because of who had cooked it.
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