Chapter 25. Jun’s Lie

The stairwell to Jun’s apartment always smelled faintly of old soy sauce and gasoline. The building backed onto the tracks; every few minutes a freight train rolled by, shaking dust from the ceiling. Lia climbed three flights, counting each one like rounds in a fight. Her shoulder still ached where Sanchez’s elbow had caught her.

By the time she reached his door, she could already hear the percolator hissing inside. Jun never slept long enough to stop brewing coffee. When he opened the door, steam rushed out, carrying the scent of bitter beans and sweat.

“You look like you fought the night shift,” he said.

“You look like you lost to it,” she answered.

The coffee at Jun’s apartment always came out too strong, the kind that left a burn on the tongue and acid in the stomach. Lia could smell it halfway down the hallway before he even opened the door.

He looked worse than usual—dark half-moons under his eyes, shirt rumpled, smile practiced. The kind of ti